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writeonwhiskey · 9 days ago

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summer in seoul: ch 13 (18+)

a/n: thank you for your patience on this. i've compelted act like you love me and can now fully focus on this fic. i had up to chapter 12 written from 2023, but now working on completing this so updates may take longer in between. also i'm done adding the timestamps to their text messages, too much continuity to keep up with 😂 enjoy! word count: 3.2k

You’ve already had breakfast and gotten settled in with a new potential manuscript when you receive a text from Chris. It’s a picture of him on the plane. He’s wearing a black Givenchy hat, a black hoodie, and a black face mask as per usual. The icing on the cake, though, is him winking at you.

The smile that spreads across your face is immediate. For a second, you forget about the parameters surrounding the two of you and react with a heart emoji. But seeing the glowing red symbol of love makes you second guess that choice.

It’s too much, isn’t it?

You replace it with a thumbs up.

Then cringe. That’s somehow even worse.

Because nothing says ‘I like fucking you but...what are we?’ like an awkward yellow hand.

You attempt to cover your blunder with a text.

You Have a safe flight. Talk soon xx

That’s better. Kind of.

It’s barely been two weeks since you met Chris, yet somehow he’s managed to carve out more space in your head than anyone has in years. Sure, the sex is part of it—it’s impossible not to think about. But it’s also the way he looks at you when you laugh. The way he listens, the way he’s opened up to you. The way it feels so easy to be with him.

However, now that you know who he really is—what he really does—you can’t dodge the reality of that.

Your phone buzzes again.

Hwarang I got in-flight wifi, silly. I’m gonna bother you the entire flight.

You I’m trying to read.

Hwarang Anything good?

You Nothing I can share with you. You have your work secrets, and I have mine.

Hwarang Oof. Guess you don’t want to know where I’m flying to then?

You Reverse psychology doesn’t work on me.

Hwarang 🙁

What starts as quick responses stretches into two full hours—bursts of texts, his photos from the plane (clouds, his coffee, the boys in the seats next to him), and your teasing commentary on each.

When his messages finally slow, you set your phone aside and bring your laptop back to your lap. You force yourself back into work mode and actually manage to finally get some reading done.

By the time you’ve had dinner, your phone buzzes again. But it’s not a text this time, Chris is calling.

You clear your throat before answering. “Hey.”

“Hey. Did I wake you up?” His voice is low and teasing.

“It’s barely nine o’clock,” you laugh. “Do I sound like I’m asleep?”

“A little.”

You roll your eyes. “How was your day in your mystery location?”

“Unbearably hot. I might come back to Seoul as nothing more than a puddle of sweat, I fear.”

“Tragic.”

“Thank you for your sympathy,” he deadpans. “What you doin’?”

“Just had dinner, working…and pretending I don’t have twelve tabs open looking up things to do in Seoul.”

“That’s my job,” he says. “You’re stealing my thing.”

“I don’t see you here doing it,” you tease.

“I’m literally calling from a different country. That’s gotta count for something.”

“Barely. What time is it for you?”

“Oh…so you do want to know where I am?”

“No…I want to make sure you’re getting adequate sleep,” you shrug.

“Just ask me where I am.”

“Why would I do that when I have the world wide web at my fingertips?”

“So you’ve been looking me up?”

You set yourself up for that one. The silence as you think of an answer stretches too long.

He laughs. “It’s okay. What did you watch?”

You hesitate to even admit it. “Something called a ‘fancam’? I don’t know…”

“Mine or one of the kids?”

“That’s a silly question.”

“I dunno. They’re good-looking men.”

“It was yours, Chris. Are you happy now?”

“Yes, actually.”

You talk for a little longer and your smile lingers even after the call ends.

The following day, July 7th, Chris texts you before your alarm even goes off.

Hwarang Morning. Did you sleep on my side?

You You have no claim to this bed, sir.

The conversation carries through your entire morning routine of brushing your teeth and choosing which outfit to wear to the café downstairs. You send him the options, laid out on the bed, to which he says he’d rather see how they look on you before deciding. And you concede, trying on each and sending him a picture. He opts on the second choice—ripped jeans and a comfy top.

That night, he calls again. You’re already lying in bed, hair still damp from your shower, manuscript notes scattered across the comforter.

“You sound tired,” you say after he yawns mid-sentence.

“I am tired,” he murmurs. “But if I fall asleep without hearing you say something sarcastic, my day feels incomplete.”

“Hmm. You’re my favorite person ever.”

“Perfect,” he laughs. “Rapid-fire of favorites. Favorite color?”

“Seriously?”

“Don’t overthink it.”

“Blue.”

“Basic.”

“Shut up. Yours?”

“Black, obviously.”

“That’s the literal absence of color, it doesn’t get more basic than that,” you retort. “Favorite movie?”

“I can’t pick just one, there’s—”

“Don’t overthink it,” you cut him off with his own words.

“Fine. Interstellar. Or Deadpool. Or—”

“That’s more than one!” you laugh.

“I said I couldn’t pick one!”

The game goes on—favorite foods, places you want to visit, the song you’d put on during a summer drive. He admits he hasn’t seen much of the world outside of tour stops. You tell him about the tiny bookstore you’ve loved since childhood and how devastated you were when it closed.

“Okay, last one. Favorite thing you’ve learned about me so far?” he asks.

“I don’t know that I have one favorite thing. Everything about you is interesting, honestly. But…maybe how caring you are.” He hums in response. "You?"

“This is just an assumption…not confirmed yet but, y/n, I think you could kick my ass if you wanted to.”

You burst into laughter. “What? Why do you think that?”

He clicks his tongue. “It’s just a feeling. Like there’s something feisty brimming beneath the surface with you, just waiting to come out.”

“That’s what fucking is for. No violence needed.”

He sighs. “I wouldn’t say no to that right now.”

You go quiet, heart thudding at the thought of it.

Your texting continues most of the following day with the same playful vibe—updates about meals, your work progress, his exhaustion from whatever the hell he’s doing.

That night, though, there’s no call.

Hwarang I’m dead on my feet. Talk tomorrow?

You stare at the message longer than you mean to. It’s the first night he hasn’t called since he left. You didn’t realize how much you were expecting it, how much the constant contact over the past few days has meant.

You Get some rest.

Hwarang Goodnight, y/n.

You set your phone on the nightstand and that’s when it hits you. Chris has been so present while away. More than when he was in Seoul. More than you expected.

You wake the next morning feeling…off. There’s a faint ache in your chest, one that you refuse to associate with how accustom you got to ending the night with his voice in your ear.

You decide to text him first today.

You Hope you got some sleep.

It’s nearing the middle of the afternoon when he replies.

Hwarang I did. Filming wrapped so late barely had time to shower before I passed out

You You had time to wash your body? What a luxury.

Hwarang Don’t act like you don’t miss it

You Washing your body? Or just your body in general?

Hwarang Careful. You start that, I’m not stopping it.

You know he’s being playful, but the spark is instant. You spend most of the day letting the tension build over texts like that. Teasing, flirty little jabs.

Chris goes radio silent for a good chunk of the afternoon but finally texts you as the clock approaches midnight.

Hwarang You awake?

You Barely. Wyd?

Hwarang Just wrapped the shoot heading back now So don’t fall asleep yet

You Why not?

Hwarang Because.

You You better hurry. (Not really, please be safe)

You readjust yourself in bed, sitting up against the pillows instead of laying down in hopes it will keep you up. You turn the volume on the TV to a ridiculous level and scroll on your phone while you wait.

Hwarang Still up?

You 😴

Your phone rings and you answer immediately. His low chuckle is the first thing you hear.

“What’s so funny?” you ask, lowering the TV volume.

“You answered on the first ring,” he murmurs, voice soft and low in your ear.

You bite back a smile. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late. How was your day?”

“It was good. Finished reading another manuscript…it seems promising. You?”

He yawns. “Long. Really fucking long. We’re filming content that won’t even be released until sometime next year.”

“You should probably get some sleep, then. Why’d you call?”

“To hear your voice.”

You ignore the flutter in your chest and speak as sternly as you can manage, “Alright, you’ve heard it. Now go to bed.”

“You gonna hang up on me or something?”

Silence stretches as the already brewing playful tension crescendos.

“Okay then,” he continues. “That settles it. You miss me, don’t you?”

“I’m not answering that.”

“Say it.”

“No.”

“Then tell me what you’re wearing.”

You pause, your cheeks heating. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I wish I was there, or you were here.”

You hesitate, teeth tugging on your bottom lip. “A tank top and underwear.”

“What kind?

“Boy shorts.”

“Color?”

“Black.”

He exhales slowly. “Fuck. Now I’m picturing it. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“You started this—it’s too late now. What are you wearing?” you counter.

“Just a towel.”

You imagine him rushing to his phone after showering, water still dripping from his hair, wearing nothing but a towel. The thought makes your thighs press together.

He’s silent for a moment after that and you hear sheets ruffling.

“FaceTime me.”

Your eyes widen. “Chris—”

“Please?” he gently asks.

You bring the phone in front of your face and hit the video button. His face fills your screen instantly—damp curls, tired eyes, but grinning when he sees you. He’s holding the phone at an angle that reveals just enough of his bare shoulders to tease you.

“There you are,” he says quietly.

You swallow, suddenly shy. “Please excuse the state of all this,” you say, gesturing to your face.

“Stop,” he says, no trace of teasing in his tone. “You go to sleep and wake up looking beautiful, y/n. I’m convinced it’s some sort of witchcraft.”

You fight another smile. “Do you have a room to yourself?”

“Yeah,” he replies, flipping the camera briefly to show the empty hotel room before turning it back. He’s smirking now. “Why?”

“Just wondering…”

He extends his arm, lowering the camera slightly, showing more of his torso.

“Is this why?”

“You’re the one who wanted to FaceTime,” you deflect, eyes flickering from his chest to his eyes. “But, I am curious…what would we be doing if I was there?”

He chuckles. “Well, neither of us would have close on, for starters.”

“Hmmm,” you scrunch your nose playfully. “It’s usually quite cold in hotel rooms. I think I’d leave mine on.”

“I can tell. You’ve got that fucking blanket pulled up to your neck.”

You laugh, pulling it even higher.

“No,” he whines. “Push it down.”

You slowly peel the blanket down to your waist.

“Like this?”

He nods once. “And your tank top.”

You arch an eyebrow. He arches one back.

“I’m already shirtless,” he says simply.

You roll your eyes but tug the straps off your shoulder, lowering the collar beneath your breasts until they spill free over the fabric.

“Fuck, y/n,” his voice cracks a little.

“Now I wish you were here,” you murmur, trailing your fingers across your hardening nipples.

“Show me.”

“Show you what?”

“Where you’d want me if I was there.”

Your lift the blanket with one hand to allow some light in, as you angle the phone towards your thighs with the other.

“No, I wanna see all of you.”

“You first,” you challenge, bringing the phone back up.

He smirks like he was hoping you’d say that. “One sec.”

The phone faces the ceiling for a moment and all you can hear is him shuffling stuff around. He then props the phone up and opens the towel. His cock is already hard, and you realize you’ve never missed someone else’s appendage so bad.

He wraps his hand around his cock and starts stroking it.

“You’re seriously—”

“Thinking about your mouth?” he interrupts. “How soft your lips feel when you swallow my cock? Yes.”

Your fingers slip into your underwear of their own accord. “Chris—”

“Yeah?”

“Keep talking.”

“Fix that angle for me, baby. Show me all of you.”

The pet name shreds any trace of apprehension that lingers. You set the phone down, shimmying out of your underwear, then angle the camera between your spread thighs. You slip your fingers between your lips, coating them with your juices.

He groans at the sight. “Fuck. Look at you—already so wet for me. I’d slide in so easy right now. No teasing, no waiting.”

You gasp, rubbing your clit in slow circles.

“God, I’d fuck you so deep,” he pants, stroking himself harder. “Hands around your throat. Tell me you wouldn’t love that.”

“Fuck—” you moan, arching against your own hand.

“On your back first, yeah? Then flip you over, smack your ass until you beg me to stop. You’d take it, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” you whimper, eyes fluttering shut.

“No, look at me,” he snaps softly. “Eyes on me. Watch me while you touch yourself.”

Your gaze locks on the screen, watching his hand squeezing and stroking his cock, his abs tightening with every stroke.

“You look so fucking good. Wish I could taste you. Feel your pussy clench around my tongue.”

“Please, Chris,” you moan, bringing your other hand up to pinch your nipples.

“Say it.”

“Say what?”

“That you miss me.”

Your hand moves faster, breath ragged. “I—fuck—I miss you.”

“Good girl,” he groans, pace quickening as the tip of his cock glistens. “You close?”

“Yes,” you whimper, almost sobbing with need.

“Keep going, baby—keep your eyes on me.”

That word coming out of his mouth again makes you whimper. You do as he said, watching him spiral, watching his mouth fall open as he pants your name.

“Chris, I’m so close.”

“Come with me,” he growls. “Right fucking now.”

Your orgasm hits you hard—hips arching, toes curling, mouth falling open as you moan. He curses, coming apart at the same time, groaning low and deep as cum spills over his fist. The sight of that alone is enough to make you want to get on a plane right now.

When you finally speak, your voice is hoarse. “We’re never talking about this again.”

“Sure,” Chris pants, smirking faintly. “Until next time.”

You roll your eyes, but you're smiling. “Go to sleep.”

“Miss you already,” he murmurs, and hangs up before you can respond.

On July 10th, you’re up early, laptop propped on the hotel desk, notes scattered everywhere. The manuscript you’ve been reading kept you up until 2 a.m., and the dark circles under your eyes feel like war wounds.

The video call connects; and her face fills the screen. You smile, your professional mask slipping easily into place. The conversation flows easily enough. You praise her for the work she’s written, offer feedback, discuss revisions and character arcs. She’s receptive and collaborative. By the end, you’re giddy with the satisfaction that comes from a job well done.

You close the laptop and immediately reach for your phone, thumb hovering over Chris’s name before you catch yourself. He’s probably busy. And what would you even say? 'Hey, just wrapped up work stuff, miss you.'

Absolutely not. Last night’s admission was a heat of the moment thing.

You toss your phone aside and go about your day.

In the afternoon, you enter a quaint, sunlit café to meet Moira. This meeting is more personal, just the way she likes it. She finalizes a few non-negotiables of the contract, and you let her know you’ll have the legal team update it a final time before her lawyer arrives next week.

After discussing the business side of things, she actually takes an interest in how you’ve been spending your time here.

“It’s a beautiful city, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” you agree. “I’ve met some really nice locals, too.”

“Anyone special?” she teases, tapping your hand on the table lightly.

“Maybe. Probably not. I don’t know, honestly.”

“You have some time to figure it out,” she reassures you. “I came here as a tourist and that was ten years ago. You never know what might happen.”

When you part ways, you feel lighter than you have in weeks. Not only are you accomplishing the job your boss sent you here to do, but also knowing you have the next few days to spend as you please, again.

Your stomach growls—the finger food in the café did not satiate your hunger—but when you pull out your phone to find a restaurant, a new message lights up the screen.

Hwarang Pack a bag. 4 days. Mostly comfy stuff, but something nice, too.

You Excuse me?

Hwarang Airport in 2 hours.

You Chris…what is happening? Where are we going?

Hwarang Just trust me And bring a swimsuit Car will be there in an hour

Your heart leaps. He didn’t mention anything about this, of course. From his hints the other day, you couldn't have fathomed he was planning an entire fucking trip.

Two hours isn’t anywhere near enough time—and you certainly didn’t pack a swimsuit for a work trip. But you sprint back to your hotel anyway, throwing clothes and toiletries into your carry-on with reckless abandon.

You don’t have time to look for a swimsuit, though. Hopefully you can get one wherever the hell it is you’re going.

The driver takes you to the airport and you’re practically vibrating with excitement and nerves when it pulls up at a private terminal. You're in the midst of wondering if this is where Chris and the boys have to catch their flights for security purposes when you see him.

Baseball cap low, hoodie covering his head, but it doesn’t matter at this point. You’d recognize him anywhere. He’s leaning against the hood of a black SUV, scrolling through his phone like he didn’t just upend your entire day.

You take the handle of your suitcase from the driver and thank him, before wheeling it over towards Chris. He looks up as you approach and that grin you love spreads across his face.

You want to hit him and kiss him all at once. “You’re kidnapping me?”

“Technically, I invited you. You said yes by showing up.”

He grabs your bag before you can argue, lacing your free hand with his as he leads you toward the sleek private jet. You freeze.

“This…is for us? We can’t. I can’t.”

He shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Would you rather go back to your hotel room or experience the ride of your life?

Well, fuck. He’s got you there.

a/n: CHRISTOPHER WHERE ARE YOU TAKING US!? hehehe. all i had in mind here was the phone sex initially but there wasn't enough buildup, so i hope you enjoyed all your phone time with Chan this chapter! 💜 thank you for reading! [ read chapter fourteen here ] (coming soon)

taglist: @hanniesbubuwife / @valworld17 / @luckyroll3 / @fancybarbii / @mlink64 / @ehstay / @gncbnahc / @no1likeneo / @beppybeesnuggets / @lattyjiji / @akindaflora / @spookiesakura

#stray kids fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #skz fanfic #skz fanfiction #stray kids #skz smut #bang chan #bang chan smut #bang chan imagines #bang chan x you #bang chan x y/n #bang chan x reader

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writeonwhiskey · 12 days ago

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This fic is now COMPLETE 💜

act like you love me: master list (18+)

summary: After a horrendous on set experience with famous actor Hwang Hyunjin, you hope to never work with him again. But when you're cast as his onscreen love interest and forced to bond, everything you once believed about him changes. One minute you’re professionals just pretending, then the lines start to blur, and suddenly, you’re not.

word count: TBD content warnings: there is smut, but nothing too wild that merits a warning.

Prologue

Chapter One: We Meet Again, Unfortunately

Chapter Two: Just Act Normal

Chapter Three: When the Storm Breaks

Chapter Four: Practice Makes Perfect

Chapter Five: The Line Between Tents

Chapter Six: Thinking...

Chapter Seven: The Scene After the Scene

Chapter Eight: Mostly Professional

Chapter Nine: Picture This, Picture That

Chapter Ten: How It Should Be

Chapter Eleven: That's a Wrap

Chapter Twelve: Curtain Call

Epilogue

My tags are now working! Leave a comment if you want to be added to the taglist for this fic 💜

#stray kids fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #skz fanfic #stray kids #hyunjin fanfic #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x you #hyunjin x y/n #hyunjin smut #skz smut

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writeonwhiskey · 12 days ago

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Whiskey!!! I think Tumblr MUST hate me. Because what do you mean you have two ongoing series right now and I am just now finding out??? Why hasn’t it been showing me your posts?? Excuse me while I spend the day binging everything to catch up. Ohhhh how I have missed your writing!! 💜💜

I think tumblr hates ME. I just barely got my tags to start working again haha but its so nice to hear from youuuu!! I will see you around, and just let me know if you wanna be added to a taglist 😘💜

#stray kids fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #skz fanfic #skz fanfiction #act like you love me #summer in seoul #bang chan fanfic #hyunjin fanfic

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writeonwhiskey · 12 days ago

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I can't believe we're almost at the end of act like you love me! It's been such a journey following through. I remember when your hynchn frat house series was still ongoing (I'M STILL TOO STRESSED TO FINISH READING IT BTW) and now to this series like there's more of a softness? To the yearning and it was more focused and the underlying layers of insecurities and worries were more open this time and idk I'll be sad to see this couple go for sure :( I'm glad we didn't get too many misunderstandings/unresolved miscommunication trope bc I think I would have combusted if you did that to me two worlds in a row. Wishing the characters a very happily ever after (and all the side couples too)

The end is officially here. Epilogue is up! Glad you've kept up with this one haha! There is a drastic difference in the level of angst/tension in Act Like You Love Me compared to The SKZ House. It was fun getting to write y/n as someone that had majority of the conflict on her side vs the MMC. I went into this giving myself a 10 chapter limit (which expanded to 12 with the prologue and epilogue), and that meant less room for misunderstandings and unresolved communications. Really fun to push myself with this.

Hope you enjoy the epilogue and hope to see you around, anon! 💜

#stray kids fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #skz fanfic #skz fanfiction #skz imagines #stray kids #skz smut #act like you love me #the skz house #hyunjin smut #bang chan smut

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writeonwhiskey · 12 days ago

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act like you love me: epilogue (18+ MDNI)

a/n: the end is finally here! thank you for joining me on this ride! word count: 3.2k [ master list ]

Epilogue (Hyunjin POV)

THREE WEEKS LATER

I still haven’t gotten used to the sight of you in my apartment.

Don’t get me wrong—I’m beyond happy to have you here. But after spending months convincing myself it was over, that I’d never get this back, it feels surreal. Three weeks ago we weren’t even speaking; now we’re spending time together almost every day. Whenever our schedules allow it, really.

“What if I trip on the red carpet?” you ask suddenly, tapping the excess water off your toothbrush before tucking it into its travel case.

Your nerves have been surfacing in questions like these for the last few days. Some are plausible—tripping, smudged lipstick, blinking at the wrong moment—others border on absurd, like the time you asked what to do if your dress somehow ripped in front of the cameras.

“I’ll catch you,” I say, rinsing my toothbrush and setting it back in the holder.

“What if you’re not near me? What if Minho points and laughs?”

I lower myself until we’re eye level and cup your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks.

“I’d hold your hand the entire time, if I could,” I say softly. “But trust me, I won’t be far. And you know Minho would never do that…not in a public space, at least.”

I’ve lost count of how many premieres I’ve been to over the years, but this one feels different. It’s better. Because tonight is yours—your first red carpet, your first real moment in front of the world. You’ll get to bask in the recognition you rightfully deserve.

I can’t wait for everyone to see what I see when they look at you.

“Would you really?” you ask, drying your hands on a towel behind us.

I use the opportunity to do something I’ve been wanting to for the past three weeks—hell, the past several months actually. I take your toothbrush out of its travel case and stick it on the holder next to mine.

I turn around to face you and immediately freeze, seeing my actions have been caught. You slowly arch a brow.

“It looks better there,” I say with a sheepish grin. “Would I really what?”

You teeter for a moment, clearly contemplating addressing the toothbrush situation. But you don’t.

“Hold my hand. On the red carpet?”

“In a fucking heartbeat, y/n,” I answer, bringing you to stand in front of me so we’re both facing the mirror. “But we’re taking this slow. I don’t care when we announce it. I have you—that’s all I wanted.”

You smile at that. “You and your perfect lines.”

“I told you, I don’t use lines on you.” I lean down to kiss the curve of your neck. “I can’t help it if everything I do and say is perfect.”

You roll your eyes but lean back into me as my hands slip under the hem of my white t-shirt you’re wearing.

“What time do you leave?” I murmur against your skin.

You check your phone and curse. “Soon. Yuna wants me to try on a few different outfits before we settle on one, then hair and makeup. I want to make sure we have enough time in case something goes wrong.”

“The premiere isn’t for another six hours.” I say, sliding my hand into your waistband. Your sigh tells me you’re not stopping me. “You’re gonna be fine.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” you breathe. “When do you leave?”

I smirk, feigning arrogance as my middle finger finds slides between your folds. “My team comes to me.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“I am whatever you say I am. Perfect. Annoying.” I pause my kisses to whisper near your ear. “The best fuck you’ve ever had.”

You circle your hips, pressing your ass back against me. “I’d really love for you to prove it right now, Hyunjin, but the car will be here for me soon.”

“We can be quick.”

“I can’t be all sweaty and smell like sex at my first premiere,” you protest.

“I’ll make sure you’re not sweaty,” I counter, already walking you back toward the shower.

“Hyunjin—”

My mouth cuts you off as I push open the glass shower door and crank on the water. You let me guide you inside and the cold droplets hit us, causing you to squeal.

“It’s fucking cold!”

“It’ll warm up. You won’t even notice in a second,” I laugh, leaning back as the water soaks through the white shirt, exposing the outline of your breasts and your nipples. “Fuck that looks so hot, y/n.”

Your jaw drops as you look down, realizing you’ve entered and won your first wet t-shirt contest. You quickly turn around and pull the shirt over your head before tossing it aside. I remove my briefs then step closer to you.

My chest meets your back, slick skin against slick skin, and I press you against the tile, kissing down your neck as the water pours over us.

“You’re impossible,” you breathe, as I turn you around.

“Tell me to stop,” I whisper against your shoulder.

Silence.

The water’s warm now, cascading over your hair, dripping down your curves. My hands find your thighs, lifting you easily as your legs wrap around my waist.

I line my cock up at your entrance, sliding the tip up and down your pussy, causing you to moan.

“You want me to fuck you?” I tease.

“Please,” you whimper.

I groan, sliding into you in one slow thrust. You cling to me, nails digging into my shoulders, mouth open against my neck. Every thrust is sharp and fast—the urgency of this moment making everything feel even better.

“I can’t wait to see how you look tonight,” I say between breaths. “Definitely not better than right now, but…”

“Maybe I should go dressed like this then, huh?” you joke, leaning back against the wall as you roll your hips in time with mine. “You think Jeongin would match with me?”

I stop mid-thrust and pull back just enough to meet your eyes. “Why the fuck are you thinking about him right now?”

You grin wickedly, like you enjoy pushing me. “He’s my date. And you’re the one who brought up how I’ll look tonight.””

“Yeah—next to me,” I growl, thrusting my cock back into you. “Not him.”

Your laugh turns into a gasp as I drive into you deeper. “You’re jealous.”

“Of course I’m jealous,” I pant, lips brushing your ear. “Are you walking the carpet with him?”

You shake your head and moan, amused and aroused all at once. “No. That’d send the wrong message.”

“Good,” I reply, snapping my hips hard enough to make you cry out.

“He’s accompanying me, but remember I’m leaving with you.”

That shreds the last bit of my restraint.

I fuck you faster, water slapping against our skin. Your moans turn to whimpers. The jealousy, the relief—it all combusts in this tiny glass box.

You come first, your pussy pulsing around me, body shaking in my arms. The sound of your orgasm, loud and unrestrained, pulls me over the edge right after. I come inside you with a low groan, holding you tight as we both collapse against the tile, breathless.

I change the water temperature as we come down. We rinse quickly and you start going off about me making you late and I can’t help but smile. This moment is everything I wanted with you and more.

Twenty minutes later you emerge from my room dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie, hair still damp with a heavy-looking bag slung over your shoulder.

“What’s all that?” I ask, sprawled on the couch like I have nowhere to be today.

“Potential accessories. Extra makeup. Snacks. I don’t know what we might need.”

“You’re so cute when you’re nervous,” I tease. “Yuna and Felix are gonna take good care of you, I’m sure you don’t need to worry.”

You shrug. “Are we coming back here or going to my place tonight?”

“I’m okay with either. You have a toothbrush here now, so…”

“About that…”

“I know it’s only been three weeks, y/n, but I’ve been thinking about having you here since I got back home. I want you here. And I want you to be comfortable.”

Your eyes drop to the floor at that—a habit I’ve noticed anytime our time apart comes up. You’re probably thinking of everything you did to push me away…I can tell it lingers in your eyes sometimes, a shadow of guilt you’re still shaking off.

I cross the room and hook a finger under your chin, tilting it up.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that, jagi.”

“I know…I just…I could have been here, all this time, you know? If I hadn’t…”

“I don’t hold anything against you,” I softly remind you. “Everything happened the way it was supposed to. You needed space. I needed to stop pushing. And now we’re here. That’s all that matters in the end.”

You nod. “You might have to remind me a few more times.”

“I will. As many times as you need.”

THE PREMIERE

“You sure she wouldn’t just prefer real flowers?” Changbin asks, turned around in the driver’s seat, watching as I carefully arrange the Lego bouquet box into a sleek gift bag.

“Yes,” I answer simply, fluffing the tissue paper in his direction for added effect, causing him to flinch.

“If you say so,” he shrugs, turning around. “Want me to wait here with you?”

I check my watch—less than ten minutes before we start walking the carpet. “No. I’ll step out. Just bring this bag in after you park.”

“Got it.”

I slide out of the car, and Changbin takes off almost as soon as the door is shut. The noise of the red carpet is muffled back here, behind the massive banners stamped with Netflix and The Heir and the Innkeeper. Assistants and publicists scurry around, the actors and top-billed staff are prepped and primped—everyone is ready to go.

J.Y. Park, Chan, Seungmin, Minho and Han are already gathered off to one side, all decked out in their suits. I stand with them, scanning the arriving cars. Every time headlights sweep the curb, my pulse spikes.

But where are you?

You text me a few minutes ago that you were close by.

Then, a sleek black sedan rolls to a stop. The driver circles around to open the door. And you step out.

Fuck.

The air leaves my lungs.

Stunning doesn’t cover it. A soft, champagne-colored gown drapes perfectly over your frame, elegant but understated, hugging you in all the right places. Your hair is swept into effortless waves, pinned back to one side, makeup subtle yet flawless. You’re fucking radiant. No sign of the nerves I witnessed earlier today.

But, as my eyes trail lower, it’s your hands that give you away. You’re flexing them at your side, opening and closing them, probably digging your nails into your palm.

The other passenger door opens and Yang fucking Jeongin steps out. He catches my eye and flashes that damn dimpled grin, cheerful as ever, before heading toward the private entrance. I like the kid. I really do. But right now, I want to mess up his perfect hair.

The driver closes the door once you’re clear of it and then you’re walking toward me. The urge to close the distance—to hug you, hold you, kiss you—is damn near impossible to fight. But I do.

“You look amazing,” I murmur when you reach us. “Beautiful. Yuna killed it.”

“Thank you,” you reply softly, smoothing out the gown like you need to keep your hands busy.

“You feeling okay?”

You glance up at me, eyes wide, then shake your head.

“You got this,” I assure you quietly. “Fifteen minutes tops, then we’re inside.”

You nod, draw in a steady breath, and paste on a practiced smile. As we start to move toward the corner, I hang back half a step, ready to catch you if those trembling hands turn into trembling legs.

We round the corner and the night explodes.

Blinding flashes. Screaming names from every direction. A sea of lenses and indistinct faces.

The group photos are first—safe, easy. You slip in between Chan and I, smile perfectly poised.

“Hands on your hips—it helps with the shaking,” I lean in close to whisper.

You do it, and damn if you don’t look like you belong here.

The solo shots are next. My eyes don’t stray when the spotlight is on you. I watch as you pose, turn, and laugh at something a photographer shouts. Nervous or not, you’re magnetic.

Then it’s my turn. Flashes. Cheers. Blah. Blah. It’s muscle memory at this point for me. I’ve done this a hundred times. But right now, it feels like I’m just killing time until you’re beside me again.

The crowd starts calling your name, merging with mine. They’re chanting for us together. I wave you over. Chan pats your back as you walk toward me. You step into place, angling your body slightly toward me—close, but not touching.

“Still okay?” I ask.

You nod once.

I keep my hands to myself, hardly fucking breathing. I want to touch you so badly. I want to hold you in front of all these people. To let them know you’re mine.

But I keep my hands to myself. I wait.

And then–

I feel fingers threading through mine.

It’s seamless. It’s soft. It’s sure.

My heart slams against my ribs as I glance down at our joined hands, then back up.

You’re already looking at me, appearing calm, yet intentional. A smile tugs at the corners of your lips. And then—God help me—you wink.

The effect is immediate.

The press and fans lose their mind. Shutters are going fucking insane. Screaming intensifies.

But I don’t hear any of it.

I’m looking at you.

You, choosing me. Publicly. Boldly. Finally.

I want to kiss you so bad right now but that would send the general public of Korea into a tailspin.

The rest of the photos feel endless, but we end up inside soon enough. It’s quieter in here, although there’s still a restless chatter filling the room.

Minho is smirking, watching as we approach, our hands still intertwined. He elbows Han. “I told you. Pay up.”

Han groans, digging into his pocket for his wallet.

“For what it’s worth?” Seungmin cuts in, “I approve.”

You laugh nervously, cheeks flushing, still holding my hand. But shortly thereafter, we’re pulled in separate directions for interviews and greetings.

I smile. I answer questions. I stand where they want me to stand. But my mind isn’t here.

My mind is wherever you are.

And I’m losing it.

That moment—your hand in mine, in front of the world? It felt like you branded me. Claimed me. Us.

My heart is beating at a rate I don’t know if my body can keep up with. Because what the fuck was that, y/n? Every ounce of restraint I’ve clung to these past months is crumbling, and all I can think about is having you again.

I scan the lobby, eyes tracking every flicker of that champagne gown until I catch you slipping through a side door.

I don’t hesitate.

Do you know I’m coming for you? That I want to find you. Want you at my side again. Want to kiss you. Want to bury my cock inside you.

I want it all.

Right fucking now.

The moment the door shuts behind me, the noise of the premiere muffles to nothing. You turn around, surprised.

The gift bag in my hand, thanks to Changbin, serves as the perfect thing to loop around the door handles. Ensuring no one can just burst in on us. I cross the narrow space in two strides. You barely have time to gasp before I’m on you.

My hands slam against the wall on either side of your head as my mouth crashes into yours. The kiss is messy, frantic—tongues tangling, breath mixing.

You moan into my mouth, hands tugging on my collar. I grab your thigh, haul it up around my hip and grind against you through the layer of designer fabric.

“What the fuck was that y/n, huh?” I groan against your lips. “Just taking my hand like that?”

You’re breathless, but smiling, pulling me closer. “I wanted them to know.”

That undoes me. Completely.

My hands are already pushing your dress up. “I can’t fucking wait.”

“Then don’t.”

I spin you before the words finish leaving your mouth, pressing you chest-first against the cold stairwell wall. One hand tangles in your hair, yanking just enough to arch your back while the other guides my cock as I thrust into you with one deep stroke.

You cry out, biting your lip to stifle it. “So fucking tight. Fuck, y/n.”

Our pace is frantic. My fingers are probably digging bruises into your waist, but I’ll kiss it better later. I can’t focus on anything other than my cock in you and the sounds of you choking back moans, making me fuck you even harder.

“You didn’t warn me,” I rasp against your ear. “Just did it. In front of everyone.”

You gasp, fingers pressing into the wall for balance. “Didn’t need to warn you.”

“Fucking right you didn’t.”

My hand dips between your legs, fingers finding your clit to circle it ruthlessly. “Come for me. Right here. Right now.”

Your body seizes around me as you cry out, muffling the sound with your arm. The feel of you, clenching, pulsing, it drags me over the edge seconds later. I bury myself deep, groaning into your hair as release tears through me for the second time today.

We stay like that for a beat, breathless and trembling. Finally, I pull back just enough to turn you around, tugging your dress back down. You’re flushed, glowing, eyes dazed.

Fucking perfect.

“Yuna is gonna kill us,” I murmur, grinning as I kiss you again, softer this time.

“Worth it,” you whisper, resting your forehead against mine.

We fix each other up as best we can—smooth your dress, swipe away smudged lipstick with my thumb. As you finish fixing your hair, I grab the gift bag from the door.

“I was supposed to give you this after the premiere,” I say, holding it out to you. “But I’m thinking now’s better.”

You blink at me, still breathless, still flushed. “Hyunjin, what—”

“Open it.”

You pull back the paper carefully, lifting out the box. Your lips part in surprise before curving into a smile so soft it could undo me all over again.

“They won’t die, once you put it together…” I murmur, suddenly self-conscious. “Figured you could keep them forever. A way to remember tonight.”

You look up at me, eyes shining.

“I don’t need them to remember tonight,” you whisper. “But thank you.”

You kiss me again. And for the first time since we wrapped filming, since we burned down and built back up again, I feel it deep in my bones:

We made it.

And this time, we’re not going anywhere.

You slide your hand into mine as we step out of the stairwell, into the glow of the lobby lights. Back to watch our faces on the big screen. Back into the chaos.

But we don’t let go. Not this time.

a/n: THE END! Thank you, thank you, thank you for sticking on another ride me with. I appreciate you all for your support on this one. I'm trying to play around with my writing style a bit these days and writing fanfic is drastically different than what is respected for a published novel. I feel like I have more freedom to test stuff out here 😫 anyhoo. I will be finishing Summer In Seoul and have two other long fics in the work. One is OT8 and the other is Minho x y/n x Chan, eeeek! See you lovelies around! 💜

taglist: @hwangjoanna / @hanniesbubuwife / @straycat420 / @tsunderelino / @dessianna1 / @akindaflora / @tirena1 / @krayzieestay / @ehstay / @spookiesakura / @aria-again / @sakuraseyebrow / @brekkers-whore / @sailor--sun / @velvetmoonlght / @mocharacha

#stray kids fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #skz fanfic #skz fanfiction #skz smut #stray kids #skz x you #skz x y/n #skz x reader #skz hyunjing #hwang hynjin #hyunjin x you #hyunjin x y/n #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin smut

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writeonwhiskey · 19 days ago

Text

act like you love me: ch 12 (18+ MDNI)

a/n: bringing a doctor here to fix somebody's heart 🤗. word count: 5.4k tracklist: Gone Away, Piece of a Puzzle [ master list ]

12 - Curtain Call

TWO MONTHS LATER

The temporary KBS hosting gig is in full swing and the work is relentless. It’s not the same as acting, but the pressure is just as brutal—smiling on cue, reading off teleprompters, and learning how to bounce off a co-host who’s been doing this for years. But the producers tell you that you’re a natural.

Your weekdays start with morning meetings and live rehearsals, followed by hours of afternoon filming. You learn the crew’s names, how they like things done, and you adapt quickly.

Your weekends aren’t much of a reprieve either. You spend your time studying guest bios, binge-watching their work, scribbling down notes.

It’s exhausting. Most nights you fall into bed too tired to even dream. But that’s exactly what you need right now—to be tired. To be consumed. Because the alternative is silence. And in the silence, your mind always finds its way back to Hyunjin.

To the way he used to catch your eye across set.

To the quiet moments you spent alone.

The way his fingers caressed your skin.

The way his lips whispered your name.

When the memories come, it’s an onslaught—not just a single glimpse of your time with him—you relive everything from start to finish. And it takes a toll on you. It makes you second guess the decisions you’ve made, makes you wonder why you fought so hard to push him away.

Time was supposed to make this easier, but time just keeps passing and he’s still everywhere.

But still, you’re trying.

Trying to forget him.

Trying to let go.

It feels impossible most days, because you never know what will remind you of him. You could be scrolling on your phone and see that his name is trending. Or an Instagram photo could pop up on your feed, like when the Arena Homme+ shoot dropped with that picture of him—laid back, staring straight into the camera like he could see you watching. You must have looked at it for hours.

It was like reopening a wound.

You found yourself wanting to call him, to tell him it was all a mistake, that you changed your mind. But, you couldn’t.

This was your choice.

You’ve made your bed.

Now you have to lay in it.

ONE MONTH LATER

The press junket for The Heir and the Innkeeper is chaos with crews from half a dozen publications crowded into the lobby of a rented studio, trying to get lined up in some kind of order. You’re the first actor to arrive and you silently curse yourself for always being early. Perhaps Hyunjin was on to something with all that, because this is nerve wracking.

Photographers are snapping pictures of you as you stand, alone, near a wall. You take out your phone simply to look busy, and thankfully after they have a few shots, they seem to lose interest.

Now you just have to wait for the others.

You remind yourself to stay calm, no matter what today may have in store for you. No matter what Hyunjin says, how he looks, how he makes you feel—you have to keep it together. You were the one who said it couldn’t be more than what it was, that your career had to come first. And he reluctantly accepted that. So whatever ache you’re still carrying around, whatever feelings still claw at you now, that’s on you.

You walked away.

You can’t want more now.

“y/n!”

You turn just in time to be swept into Han’s arms. You wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly as he lifts you off the ground a bit.

“You look like you’re in timeout over here by yourself,” he laughs, setting you back down.

“It’s one of the cons to always being on time,” you tell him.

“How are you?”

“Right now? I’m tired, I’m hungry, and wondering how long this is going to take.”

He reaches into his blazer pocket and hands you a granola bar.

“I could kiss you right now,” you say, taking it from him and ripping open the wrapper.

“Not in front of the camera’s,” comes the familiar voice of Minho on your other side. He gives you a firm pat on the shoulder in greeting.

“I missed you too,” you mumble, covering your mouth as you chew.

“I am quite miss-able, I’ve heard.”

As you catch up with Minho and Han, a few other cast members start to trickle in and with each new arrival you feel your adrenaline and anticipation grow, knowing Hyunjin could be the next to arrive.

There are now stylists running around fixing collars, producers checking clipboards, and camera crews moving to the different rooms to get set up. As the buzz of the room continues to build, your eyes scan the room, searching.

And then—he enters.

And suddenly, you realize you failed to adequately prepare yourself to see him.

You knew he would look good. He always does. But holy fuck does a tailored grey suit with a dark shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, make your mouth water. His hair, slightly longer now, is styled but a little undone like he didn’t try too hard. And knowing him, he probably didn’t.

Your initial thought is how you could have possibly thought walking away from that was the smart thing to do.

He stops for a moment to talk to someone, but his eyes roam across the room, stopping only when they land on you.

You offer a small smile and nod, then abruptly avert your gaze.

You stay rooted beside Minho and Han, barely registering what subject the conversation has drifted to. You tune in just as Han makes a remark about an interviewer and the outfit she’s wearing and assure yourself it’s okay not to fully engage.

Hyunjin approaches a few minutes later and you immediately stiffen in his presence. He hugs Minho first, then Han and they exchange brief greetings. For a moment, you wonder if he’ll hug you, too. But then his arms are around you.

Your breath catches as your eyes flutter shut of their own accord, and for the first time in months, you inhale deeply—like your lungs finally remember how.

“How are you?” he murmurs, pulling back.

You can’t bring yourself to answer right away. Can’t even look at him directly. You’re too thrown by how natural he seems. Calm and collected. Like the pain you thought you shared might only be yours now.

“I’m okay…you?” you ask softly.

“Good. Ready to get this day over with.”

“Will it be as bad as I’m imagining?” You attempt to sound as casual as he does.

“Worse,” he chuckles. “You’ll be worn out after the second one. Just watch.”

A Production Assistant comes to corral all the actors into one of the backrooms. You’re seated with the full ensemble for the first interview. They place you and Hyunjin on a plush, velvet bench while Minho, Han and J.Y. Park take the seats behind you.

The questions start light—funniest moment on set, favorite scene, who messed up the most takes. The vibe is energetic, friendly. But you feel the heat of Hyunjin beside you the entire time.

When the chemistry question inevitably comes, the room seems to lean in, awaiting your answers.

“You two were electric,” the host says, gesturing between you and Hyunjin. “How did you build that dynamic?”

You glance at him and offer a professional smile. “We spent a lot of time with the script. We talked about our characters a lot, worked with the intimacy coordinator. It was all very collaborative.”

Hyunjin smiles beside you and gives a firm nod of agreement.

The next round pares down to just the two of you. You’re guided to a smaller room—a faux-living-room setup with two chairs angled toward each other, a small coffee table between you, and a bank of lights behind the camera.

As you settle into the chair across from Hyunjin, the air feels different. Tighter. Quieter.

The interviewer is gentler this time. She asks about the evolution of your characters' relationship, the emotional weight of certain scenes. You talk about the arc of falling in love slowly, the subtle build of tension, the heartbreak at the end.

But somewhere between the questions, your answers start to feel less like performance and more like confessions.

When she asks what you learned from your characters, you hesitate.

“I think,” you start slowly, “that sometimes connection catches you off guard. You don’t always get to prepare for it. And if you’re lucky, you learn not to run from it.”

It’s vague, but it will have to suffice.

“And you, Hyunjin?”

“Sometimes you meet the right person at the wrong moment, but if you both want it, you can work through it…” he trails off before continuing. “Ultimately, I think a lot of what Jae-hoon goes through, though, reminded me that it’s important to be present in the moment, even if it’s just temporary.”

The interviewer nods.

You want to turn and look at him, but you refrain. Everything he’s said today, if you allow yourself to read deeply enough into it, signals that he has in fact moved on.

And you know exactly why you don’t feel happy about that.

But perhaps it’s exactly what you deserve.

A few hours later you’ve lost count of how many interviews you’ve done. Each one bleeds into the next with each reporter poking at the same themes.

“Your chemistry with Hyunjin was incredible, did it come naturally?”

“There’s so much tension between your characters—was that a challenge to film?”

Despite it being quite tiresome and your throat hurting a bit, it’s a fun experience. The first of many, you hope.

Eventually, the final camera crew begins to pack up. You sink into a chair, letting your shoulders drop for the first time in hours. You hadn’t realized how rigid you were from sitting with perfect posture this entire time.

You glance up to see Hyunjin off to the side, deep in conversation with J.Y. Park. He laughs softly at something, running his hand through his hair.

He seems so much lighter than the last time you saw him.

You should be happy for him.

“Hey,” Minho’s voice pulls you out of your daze. “You coming to dinner?”

You blink. “What?”

“Dinner,” he repeats before rattling off a list of who’s going. “…Chan might come too if his project wraps in time. You in?”

You glance across the room again. Hyunjin is still talking, but he’s watching you now.

It doesn’t feel the same as those across set looks you once shared, though. There’s no expectation in his face. He’s no longer inviting you in.

You sigh. You’re tired…but you do want to go. Not because you think it’ll fix anything, necessarily. Not because you’re holding out hope for a grand romantic moment. But because you’ve been running on empty for weeks now, void or better yet avoidant of emotion, and being around him actually forces you to feel something.

“Yeah,” you say, rising to your feet. “I’m in.”

You’re seated at a long table tucked into a corner of the restaurant. On your side is Han, Changbin and Seungmin. Across from you is Minho, Chan, and Hyunjin.

You find yourself wishing that Felix, Jeongin and Yuna were here, but work commitments are keeping them away until closer to the premiere. It feels incomplete without them. Still, it’s nice. Being with everyone again feels like slipping into a version of yourself you haven’t been in a while.

“How was the KBS gig?” Chan asks.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him since the wrap party, though he did call you after your first episode aired to congratulate you.

“It was probably the longest eight weeks of my life,” you answer honestly. “But it was an invaluable experience—thanks again for the recommendation.”

“Of course,” he shrugs, smiling. “I told you you’d be good at it.”

“I’m still learning how much I’m capable of.”

He laughs. “If they renew us for a second season, you’ll really get to find out. Some of the writers were—”

“Sorry,” you interrupt, brows furrowed. “Second season?”

“It’s not set in stone, but with the press buzz surrounding this already, it could be likely.”

Your gaze drifts instinctively toward Hyunjin, heart beating faster.

His expression is unreadable.

You can’t tell if he’d be open to that.

You don’t even know if you would be.

Minho jumps in with a question about whether or not his character would return, allowing you to sink into your thoughts.

You try to imagine being on set with Hyunjin again—spending long days together and the potential for intimate scenes…his lips on yours. Going through that again would be torture, feeling like you do now.

“So,” Changbin says beside you, bumping his elbow lightly against yours. “You survived your first press junket.”

“Barely,” you murmur, grateful for the shift in focus. “How have you been?”

He leans back in his seat, throwing an arm over the back of your chair. “Busy. I don’t think we’ve had a day off this entire month.”

“We?” You arch a brow.

“I go where he goes,” Changbin shrugs.

“You guys are really cute,” you tease.

The entrees arrive and the clink of utensils fills the space between conversation. You let yourself fall into the familiar comfort of Changbin’s company, letting his quick wit and easy charm pull your attention away from the conflict in your chest.

But it doesn’t last.

During a moment of silence, Changbin follows your gaze as it once again drifts across the table for a quick peek.

“Do you miss him?” he asks, low enough for only you to hear.

Your head snaps to face him, eyes wide.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Not really…it’s just my job to be aware of who has their eyes on him.”

You clear your throat and take a sip of water, glancing at Hyunjin again. Fuck—you can’t help it.

Hyunjin is now mid-conversation with Chan, but his eyes flick to yours as if he feels your stare.

“You remember when the three of us had dinner in his hotel room?” Changbin asks. “The night when you spilled red wine all over my hoodie and he tried to cover for you and pass it off as modern art?”

You smile softly at the memory and nod. It was one of the last nights the three of you spent together before shit went south.

“I don’t think I’ve heard him laugh like that since.”

You don’t respond to that. You just chew the inside of your cheek as something settles low in your stomach.

You’d told yourself a hundred times why it could never work—why keeping your distance from Hyunjin was the smart, professional thing to do. You’re still a new face in a cutthroat industry, still carving space for yourself in a country that doesn’t hand out opportunities to people like you easily. You’re still afraid to become the story instead of having the freedom to tell one through your craft.

That hasn’t changed.

But somewhere along the way, in the time you’ve spent without him, those fears lost their bite. Because when you look at him now—when you remember the way he made you feel seen, challenged, adored—you realize none of those things matter as much as you thought they did. Not if it means losing something that felt so real.

And, given what Changbin said, maybe Hyunjin is just putting on a front. Maybe he has become a better actor, like he said at the wrap party.

After the meal winds down and the check is paid, everyone starts filtering out. You stand on the curb with them, hugging and getting in your goodbyes. As you dig around in your purse to find your phone and call a ride, you realize it’s not there.

“Shit,” you mutter. “I left my phone on the table.”

Minho, Han and Seungmin hesitate as they get into their car, but you assure them it’s fine. Chan and Hyunjin nod, telling you they’ll wait for you.

You head back into the restaurant, scanning the table for your phone but it’s already been cleaned. You find your waitress to ask about it, and she suggests checking with the hostess.

You’re relieved when she produces it from beneath the counter.

“Thank you so much,” you tell her, accepting it with a small bow.

When you make it back outside, you’re expecting to see the others but only Hyunjin is left standing there.

Your heart jumps.

“I told Chan he could take off,” he says softly. “Can we drive you home?”

You’re taken aback at the offer. Nothing about the last several hours has led you to believe he would ask something like this. He seemed content with the separation.

As if on cue, Changbin pulls up to the curb.

“W-why?”

Changbin exits the car and walks around to open the back door.

“Because it’s late and…” he trails off, looking down at the ground. He lets out a deep sigh, shaking his head as he lifts his gaze to you. “And it didn’t feel right, letting you leave alone.”

You look at Changbin and he’s staring back at you expectantly.

“You getting in? Or do I need to give a speech on why this is a good idea?”

You glance around the mostly quiet street, pulse fluttering beneath your skin. No cameras. No fans. Just the three of you.

“Changbin can take you alone if you’d prefer,” Hyunjin speaks up again. “We just want to make sure you get home safely.”

“N-no,” you say before you can stop yourself. “It’s okay.”

Hyunjin nods, gesturing toward the open car door. You climb inside and he gets in after you. Changbin shuts the door, and the car is dead quiet until he clamors into the driver’s seat. He takes off down the street, turning on soft background music to fill the silence.

The lapse in conversation doesn’t feel uncomfortable. But every second ticks by with a tiny ache, like something important is waiting to be said but neither of you know how to start.

“Chan was right,” Hyunjin says suddenly, and you turn to face him. “You were really good on the variety show.”

“You watched?”

Changbin snorts. “Every episode.”

Hyunjin clicks his tongue in annoyance.

You laugh softly, but it warms your heart to hear that.

“How’s the new film going?” you ask.

“I have bruises everywhere,” he groans. “I don’t know why I agreed to do my own stunts.”

“Your mouth wrote a check your body couldn’t cash.”

“Oh, I’ll cash it,” he replies with a grin. “Just might have a few fractured ribs by the end of it.”

The tension in the car lightens. There’s something lingering between you—an unresolved topic that needs to be addressed—but it no longer feels like a weight holding you down. Not quite an elephant in the room. A ferret, maybe.

As the ride continues, you talk more freely—jokes and stories about the projects you’ve been working on. It feels easy. But your skin is tingling just from being this close to him. Alone. Well, mostly alone. Changbin doesn’t count.

The car slows to a stop and for a moment, no one speaks.

“Thank you for getting me home. It was really good seeing you both,” you say.

“Of course.”

“Anytime,” Changbin adds as you reach for the door. “But…you’re not inviting us up? You couldn’t have missed us that much.”

You pause. Hyunjin throws a look at Changbin then looks at you.

“D-did you want to come up?” you ask quietly. “I mean, I’m okay with it if you guys don’t have anywhere to be. I’ve got tea. Or beer. Or…whatever.”

“Sure,” Hyunjin says, almost too quickly.

“Can I park here?” Changbin asks, already shifting into reverse.

“Yeah, just even it out and you’ll be fine,” you reply.

But as you and Hyunjin step out, Changbin rolls down the window.

You both turn to stare at him.

Changbin wiggles his eyebrows and laughs, then rolls the window back up before taking off down the street. Leaving you both standing there, staring slack-jawed as the disappears around the corner.

Hyunjin palms his forehead with one hand and pulls out his phone with the other. “I’m so sorry, y/n. I had no idea he was going to do that. I’ll call a ride.”

“Don’t,” you say, stopping him. “We should talk and clear the air before the premiere at least.”

He looks up from his phone to study your face. “Are you sure?”

You nod.

The elevator ride up is long and silent, the weight of all the things left unsaid shrouding you. When you finally reach your door, your fingers fumble with the keypad. The lock whirs on the second try.

He steps inside after you, slipping his shoes off beside yours. You move ahead, flicking on lights, trying to ignore how your heart is sprinting.

“Make yourself comfortable. Do you want a drink?”

“Tea’s fine,” he replies.

You retreat into the kitchen to make the drinks. As the water boils, you lean your palms on the counter and exhale slowly.

Hyunjin is here. In your apartment. Quiet and stable and maybe still waiting.

And maybe that’s what he’s been doing all along—waiting for you to decide he can cross your line one final time.

You close your eyes as the kettle begins to rumble behind you.

Things could still go wrong. The timing is still messy, and the stakes are still high.

But you’ve lived without him, and now you know…the risk of heartbreak doesn’t outweigh the cost of never trying.

When you join him in the living room with the tea, you find him standing in front of your shelves, eyeing your Lego Landmark Collection. This feels like a reversed déjà vu, reminding you of the first time you were in his suite.

“You put all these together?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say, handing him a cup.

“You must have far too much free time,” he teases gently.

“I wasn’t exactly rolling in acting gigs before,” you laugh it off.

You sit on the couch. A moment later, he does too—closer than he needs to be but not touching. Still, you can feel the warmth radiating off him anyway.

“So…” he says.

“So…” you echo, both of you smiling faintly at the awkward symmetry of this moment.

“I didn’t think I’d still feel like this around you,” he says.

You glance over at him. “Like what?”

“Like I’m going to say something I’ll regret.”

That’s all it takes for your eyes to burn, tears rising before you can stop them. He’s still waiting. For you.

You were the one who ended it. If there’s any chance at rekindling this flame, you have to take the lead.

You turn away for a moment, blinking rapidly to keep the waterworks at bay. When they’re under control, you face him again.

“I wish there was a script for this,” you begin softly. “I’m sorry for pushing you away like that, Hyunjin. I wasn’t thinking about how it must have felt for you, and I hate that. I wish I handled everything so differently.”

“But you don’t regret it?”

His eyes hold yours—those warm, patient eyes that have always been gentle with you. There’s safety in them.

“I do,” you whisper, dropping your gaze.

A beat passes.

“Did you ever think about calling?” he asks, catching you off guard.

You smile sadly. “Not just calling. I thought about showing up at your fucking doorstep and I don’t even know where you live.”

He lets out a sudden, surprised laugh, head tipping back. The sound cracks something in you and you feel that old gravity pull again.

“Why didn’t you?” he asks, reigning in his laughter.

“I couldn’t…” you inhale deeply. “After everything…I didn’t think you’d want to see me. I made such a fuss about ending things. I felt like I had to be strong enough to follow through.”

His expression shifts to something softer. “And were you? Strong enough?”

“I thought I was. But after a while, it stopped feeling like strength and started to feel more like punishment.”

He nods, slow and thoughtful. “You told me not to make it harder than it already was. I wanted to come to you, but I thought me staying away was what you needed.”

A lump rises in your throat, heart twisting. “It was, in a way. I don’t think I could have come to this realization on my own if you hadn’t.”

“And…what does that mean for where you’re at now?”

The question is gentle, careful, but his eyes flick to your lips for the briefest second. Your body reacts before your brain can catch up.

That small, familiar gesture is so subtle, but you know what it means, what it leads to.

You shift toward him, closing the space until your knees graze his thigh. He doesn’t move away.

“I don’t know about the big picture right now,” you admit softly.

He hesitates this time, shifting away, and your heart sinks.

“You have to be sure, y/n,” he whispers. “I can’t do the uncertainty.”

“I know,” you whisper.

He finally shifts, facing you now too. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t put your career first…but don’t put me last again, either.”

You blink back tears and nod slowly, your bottom lip trembling as you bite it. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says, reaching out to cradle your cheek in his palm. His thumb brushes just below your eye, and the contact shatters the last piece of restraint.

“I want you, Hyunjin,” you say, voice trembling but true. “I still want my career, too, of course, but…what would any of the success in that mean if I don’t have you by my side? I just don’t know how this works at such a public level.”

A smile tugs at his lips. “I can call my publicist right now.”

You laugh, nuzzling your face against his palm. “Maybe not just yet. But, yeah, eventually. If you want that, too.”

He leans in resting his forehead against yours.

“I’ve always wanted that,” he murmurs. “I just needed you to be okay with it. I also need you to know that nothing between us will ever come before your dreams. That I’ll protect what we have—always. I have far too many people on speed dial.”

You laugh, eyes closing. You know he’s serious. After the stylist incident, the way those headlines disappeared almost overnight…

“So, are you sure?” he asks again, voice low as his lips hover just above yours.

You don’t hesitate this time.

“Yes,” you whisper.

His lips are on yours in the next instant.

The kiss is slow at first, tentative, but there’s nothing uncertain in the way his hands slide to your waist. He pulls you onto his lap without breaking the kiss, your body fitting to his like you never left. Your fingers tangle in his hair, lips parting as the taste of him floods back in—familiar, intoxicating, needed.

It deepens quickly, months of aching pressed into every breath, every touch. His tongue slips into your mouth, and you moan softly, grinding against him instinctively. The low, broken groan he lets out in response sends a pulse between your legs.

You reach for the hem of his shirt, tugging it over his head in one swift motion. His skin is hot to the touch, the defined lines of his chest still just as breathtaking as the first time. Your palms run over him, memorizing him again.

He pulls your shirt off next and kisses down your throat, tongue dragging lazily across the hollow of your collarbone before his teeth graze it lightly.

“You’re still mine?” he whispers.

Your breath catches. “I never stopped being yours.”

His mouth crashes back to yours, urgent now, his hands roaming under the band of your dress pants. You wiggle them off together in a rush, laughing through your kissing when you nearly fall off his lap. He catches you, always steady.

“You’re perfect,” he breathes as his hands slide down to cup your ass, fingers digging in. “So fucking perfect.”

You shift against him again, grinding over the bulge in his pants. He’s already hard, and the friction draws another low sound from deep in his chest.

“I need you,” you whisper. “Please…”

He lifts you effortlessly and you direct him toward the bedroom, your mouth never straying far from his skin.

When he lays you down on the bed, he strips the rest of the way, then climbs over you. He trails kisses down your stomach and both of your thighs.

“God I really fucking hope this isn’t a dream,” you say, watching as he settles between your thighs.

His eyes flick up to yours, brow quirked. “Have you been dreaming about me? Coming back to claim your pussy?”

All you can manage to do is nod as you thrust your hips upward, wanting to feel his mouth on you again. He chuckles softly before delivering a long, slow lick up your slit.

You gasp, arching your back, hands reaching for his head. You grip the strands and press his face against you. His mouth is all hunger now. Tongue firm and slow at first, then teasing, then relentless. He knows what you like. Knows what makes you cry out.

He hasn’t forgotten anything.

“Wait—I want you in my mouth, too,” you say, pulling him up again.

You switch positions so he’s lying on the bed, head resting against the pillows. You straddle him backwards, your knees framing his face, ass perched right above his mouth.

“Fuck,” he breathes. His hands slide up your thighs, gripping your hips. He pulls you down onto his mouth, his tongue parts your folds and dives right back in.

Your moan trembles of you as you lower your head to take his cock in your mouth. The taste of him on your tongue again makes you moan even more. His hips twitch at the vibration, but he doesn’t stop his task. His tongue circles your clit and your thighs tremble around his head. He palms your ass, not letting you move too far away as your hips rock back and forth against his face.

You take more of him in, cheeks hollowing as you suck, swirling your tongue around the head, then down the trace a vein along the underside.

You’re lost in each other. Tongues flicking, exploring, teasing. Hands gripping and restraining.

You rock your hips harder, grinding down against his face as if the man doesn’t need to breathe. Your moans grow louder, each one muffled in your mouth as you take him in deeper and deeper.

When you tighten your grip and start stroking him in tandem with your mouth, he groans so hard into your pussy that it makes your whole body jolt, thighs quaking around his face.

You pull your mouth off him with a wet pop, panting. “Fuck, Hyunjin—don’t stop, I’m so close.”

Your orgasm crashes down on you, hips bucking against his mouth as your thighs squeeze around his head. You clench your eyes shut and ride it out, pleasure coursing through every nerve ending as he moans into your release.

You’re still trembling when he flips you over in one smooth motion, lining himself up, cock already soaked in your slick and spit.

“Gonna come,” he mutters. “Need to feel you, jagi.”

He thrusts forward with one long stroke and your body welcomes him back like a soldier coming home. His hips snap to yours, fast, rough, and so fucking deep.

“Hyunjin—” you gasp, nails digging into his back, not expecting another orgasm to rise so quickly.

He presses his forehead against yours, nodding his encouragement. “Again.”

It doesn’t take long for either of you. His jaw clenches as he groans your name. You continue thrusting your hips up as you come together, holding him so close it hurts. He buries his face in your neck, body shaking, breath coming out in ragged bursts.

And then, everything stills.

You lie tangled together, limbs heavy, heart’s racing. You run a hand through his damp hair, and he presses a kiss to your shoulder.

You bring his mouth back to yours and kiss him again—deep and slow. There’s no rush. You have him. He has you. And for the first time in months, it feels like the world is finally right again.

a/n: shout out to seo changbin as cupid because our leading pabo's need him. thank you all so much for reading. just the epilogue left now! [ read the epilogue here ]

#stray kids fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #skz fanfic #skz fanfiction #skz fan fiction #stray kids fan fiction #skz hyunjin #stray kids hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #hyunjin x you #hyunjin x y/n #hyunjin x reader #skz smut #hyunjin smut #skz x you #skz x reader #skz x y/n

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writeonwhiskey · 24 days ago

Text

summer in seoul: ch 12

a/n: sorry this took a little while! enjoy! word count: 3.8k

After a quick breakfast, Felix, Han, Lee Know and Jeongin are leading you out of the building. You all quickly duck inside the waiting car, and it takes off without them mentioning the destination at all.

You glance around at them, trying not to feel out of place, and take in how they’re dressed—caps pulled low, sunglasses, face masks. It reminds you of how Chris always dresses when you’re out in public together.

You now know the reason behind it. But they don’t know you’re in on the secret yet, which only makes the whole group cosplay even funnier.

“You all feeling under the weather or something?” you ask innocently.

They exchange a quick look.

“Just…sensitive to sunlight,” Felix mutters, tugging his bucket hat lower.

“Seasonal allergies,” Han adds with a sniff for emphasis.

“I have pimple,” Jeongin says.

Lee Know just shrugs.

You bite back a smile. “Right.”

You let them off easy, leaning back into the seat. Throughout the ride, Felix talks to you the most—he seems to take you under his wing, knowing it’s easier for you to communicate with him—but the others do their best to make you feel included, too.

“You guys going to tell me where we’re going yet?”

“It’s a secret,” Han says.

“You’ll like it,” Felix assures you.

You eye him suspiciously. “Why does everyone here seem to like secrets so much?”

“It’s not bad,” Jeongin replies.

“Chan said to keep you entertained,” Han adds with a shrug. “So that’s what we’re doing.”

There’s a brief pause before you respond. “So I’m basically being babysat by the local welcome committee?”

“Exactly that,” Felix nods, “and we offer snacks.”

You laugh quietly. “Do you guys always hang out like this? You don’t have to go to work or anything?”

Another shared look—slightly awkward. They let Felix take the lead.

“We’ve got pretty similar schedules,” he says. “But, yeah, we do spend a lot of our free time together.”

“Well, thanks for letting me tag along. I appreciate it. I probably would’ve just stayed in the hotel room all day.”

“We couldn’t let that happen,” Han says.

“Yeah,” Felix grins, glancing out the window. “You’re in Seoul. You’re obligated to at least try a claw machine.”

“Claw machine?” you repeat. “Are we going to an arcade?”

The car begins to slow, pulling into a narrow side street lined with colorful signage and a glowing neon arrow pointing toward an underground arcade.

Han shoots you a grin. “Ready to lose?”

You huff. They have no idea how competitive you are.

“Let’s do this.”

You follow them down the stairs into the dimly lit space. It’s packed full of flashing lights and whirring machines, and smells faintly of popcorn and cotton candy. But there’s hardly anyone inside, and when the boys take off their face masks you can only assume they either come here enough to know it’s dead on a Sunday or they’ve rented out the entire place. You hope for the former.

“Do you want a card or tokens?” Felix asks, already making a beeline for the machine at the entrance.

“I’ll win with either,” you reply.

Felix laughs, swiping a game card and handing it to you. “Confidence. I like it.”

Jeongin is already gone, halfway across the room in front of a basketball hoop game. He waves Lee Know over.

“Time to crush this kids ego.” Lee Know cracks his knuckles and rolls his shoulders.

You watch as the two of them start a head-to-head round, the machine lighting up with a countdown. Felix pulls you toward a claw machine nearby with rows of pastel plushies and keychains stacked inside.

“You have to call which one you’re going for,” Felix says.

“The bunny,” you tell him.

“I’m getting this bear,” he points to it.

“We’ll see.”

You and Felix choose separate machines and swipe your cards. As the claw dangles and jerks around inside, you go quiet to focus. You nudge it to the left, hold your breath, and press the drop button. The claw lowers, catches onto the pale blue bunny, lifts—and just before it hits the edge of the chute, it drops.

“Nooo,” you groan.

“That’s how they get you,” Han suddenly reappears at your side with a bucket of popcorn.

Felix’s first attempt isn’t any better. His claw completely misses its target.

“Okay, okay that was just a warm-up round,” Felix announces as you both slide your cards again.

Two attempts later, you manage to finally snag the bunny. It drops into the prize chute and you jump up and down, hands raised in the air.

“Damn, bro,” Han says, shaking his head at Felix. “Can you beat anyone in any game?”

Felix looks mildly betrayed. “It’s all luck sometimes.”

You smile sweetly, holding the bunny to him. “For your efforts.”

“A souvenir of my shame, you mean,” he mutters, but he grins as he takes it.

By the time you’ve all made the rounds—air hockey, racing simulators, shooting games—your competitive streak has flared and your card balance is dangerously low. Lee Know crushed Jeongin in four basketball games in a row. Han’s surprisingly good at Dance Dance revolution and Felix set a high score on the punching machine with a spinning back kick that had your jaw on the floor.

Somewhere between rounds, Lee Know disappears and returns with bottled water and kimbap for everyone.

“You guys are seriously good hosts,” you tell him as he hands you one.

“Chan would want us to keep you alive,” he shrugs.

“Yeah, he would definitely hurt us if we didn’t make sure you were adequately fed and hydrated,” Felix agrees.

“Is he your leader or something?”

They freeze for half a second—just long enough to notice.

Han recovers first. “He’s more like…our very stressed out parent.”

You narrow your eyes at them, but they’re already pretending to be very interested in their food. It’s obvious they’re deflecting, but there’s something kind of endearing about the way they do it. They obviously want to make sure you have a good time, but they’re under the impression they are protecting Chris’s secret.

“Well your dad-friend raised some very chaotic sons.”

“Thank you,” Felix says brightly. “We try.”

The rest of the afternoon is spent stopping by a few shops, the guys convincing you to try on things you never would’ve picked for yourself. Somewhere between a pair of oversized sunglasses and a bright patterned jacket, you stop resisting and lean into the mayhem with them. They’re relentless, but also surprisingly good at picking things that actually suit you.

By the time you all pile back into the car, you’re carrying a modest haul—though nothing compared to the bags Felix has. Back at the apartment building, Lee Know and Jeongin head off to their own place, each juggling a few bags.

Felix passes them his own, “You know where my closet is, thanks.”

Lee Know rolls his eyes, but Jeongin does his best to take all the bags in his hands.

Inside the apartment, you see Seungmin and Changbin seated at the dining table, casually flipping through their phones—and across from them sits someone you haven’t seen before. At least, not in person.

There’s something about him that immediately commands attention. His hair is pulled half-up, half-down, with loose strands framing his face. This must be the member that was in Milan for a fashion show. That phrase still doesn’t feel normal to even think.

He’s dressed in what could technically be called casual wear, but it’s fucking Versace. He makes it look both laid-back and runway ready at the same time. He glances up from his phone and when his eyes land on you, he smiles.

“You’re back already,” Felix says. “y/n, this is Hyunjin. Hyunjin, y/n—Chan’s friend.”

Hyunjin gives a small, polite nod and a casual wave. “Hey.”

You return the gesture.

“Didn’t expect you back so early today,” Han says.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin shrugs. “I slept like five hours in two different airports. I’m running on caffeine and vibes, right now.”

“You’re thriving, sweetie,” Changbin reassures him.

When Lee Know and Jeongin return, everyone decides to play charades. The next hour passes in a blur of ridiculous guesses, reenactments and accusations of cheating. You’re in the middle of trying to guess Han’s elaborate pantomime of…a chicken…a rocket ship…you have no idea, when Felix turns to look at you with a frown.

“Chan’s not gonna make it back tonight.”

“Oh.” You try not to let the disappointment show. “Everything okay?”

“Just work stuff,” he says. “But he said to make sure you get back to your hotel safely.”

The news puts a slight damper on the mood, but you finish out the game with them anyway. When they invite you to stay for dinner, you politely decline.

Felix insists on riding with you back to the hotel, chatting casually during the drive—nothing important, just easy conversation that keeps your mind from wandering too far.

Even without Chris, the day didn’t feel like a waste. If anything, it gave you a clearer understanding that they’re so much more than just a group. They’re connected in a way that’s hard to describe—a closeness that seems deeply earned. A kind of found-family bond.

When the car pulls up to your hotel, you turn to Felix with a smile.

“Thanks for today. Really.”

He nods. “Anytime.”

You pause with your hand on the door, then glance at him again. “You’re definitely, like, the second coolest member of Stray Kids.”

His mouth drops open—realizing you’d been fucking with them the entire day with your questioning. Before he can respond, you stick your tongue out and hop out of the car, shutting the door with a grin.

The window rolls down a second later.

“Not cool, y/n.”

The following day, after your author’s meeting, you still haven’t heard from Chris. As you go over your notes from the meeting, you can’t keep your mind from drifting to thoughts of him.

You wonder why he texted Felix about not being able to come back yesterday and not you, if everything’s really fine, what exactly pulled him away—what’s kept him away all this time. And then you remind yourself, as gently as possible, that it’s not your place to worry like this.

You try to reduce it to simple human compassion. The same empathy you’d feel for any friend going through a rough time.

Still, that doesn’t dull the ache of how far away he suddenly feels. Before you think too deeply about it, you pull out your laptop and type their group name into YouTube. You tell yourself it’s only to understand more about the world Chris calls reality. But it’s just blatant curiosity at this point.

To your surprise there’s an endless supply of content: music videos, live stages, interviews, behind-the-scenes clips, and even game shows. Each one feels more surreal than the last. You fall into a two-hour rabbit hole, slack-jawed as you watch the very same boys you spent yesterday with (and Chris, whom you’ve fucked), send their fans into a frenzy merely by existing.

It's jarring, trying to mesh the different versions of them all together.

Just as you pull up a live stream of a 4th of July firework show back home, your phone buzzes. You can’t stop the wave of relief that washes over you, seeing his name.

Hwarang [8:27pm] Hey

You don’t hesitate to reply.

You [8:28pm] Hey. You okay?

Hwarang [8:30pm] I’ll be fine You busy?

You glance up at the fireworks bursting on your screen. You’re the exact opposite of busy.

You [8:31pm] Not at all.

As soon as the two checkmarks next to your message turn blue, your phone starts to ring. You nearly drop it out of shock—he’s never called you before. You clear your throat, press the answer button and place the phone against your ear.

“I’m sorry,” he says as soon as the line connects, his voice soft and low.

“For what?”

“Goin’ MIA again.”

You remain silent for a moment. Given the parameters of your ‘relationship’, this is supposed to be something you both find fun. He’s not supposed to feel bad for being preoccupied. However, you do appreciate his acknowledgement.

“Work comes first, you don’t need to apologize.”

“I know,” he sighs, “I wanted to text you but I was in such a shitty mood I didn’t want any of it to rub you the wrong way.”

“You’ve only ever rubbed me the right way, Chris,” you tease.

He chuckles. “Can I come see you?”

“Now?”

A knock at your door startles you once again. You immediately know it can’t be a coincidence.

“Chris…” you trail off, walking towards the door.

“Hmmm?”

You pull the door open to reveal Chris, masked up and leaning against the wall next to the doorframe.

“I was in the neighborhood,” he smiles, looking at you as he continues speaking into his phone.

“Uh-huh,” you say, stepping aside and allowing him to enter.

He takes his shoes off and continues into the room, finally hanging up the phone and sliding it onto the table. He takes off his backpack, then removes his mask and tosses his hat next to his phone. He then brings you in for a hug, squeezing you tightly for longer than necessary, but you don’t mind.

“You hungry? Thirsty?” you ask when he releases you.

“I’m good,” he sits down at the small table. He glances at the video playing on your laptop and you promptly shut it.

“Feeling a little homesick today,” you mumble with a shrug.

“What would you have been doing today if you were home?” He inquires, pushing the other chair out at the table for you to sit.

“I would have helped my mom host her annual barbecue and gorged myself on hamburgers and hot dogs, set off fireworks—the typical celebrations,” you reply, taking a seat.

“Sounds fun…sorry you have to miss it,” he replies earnestly.

“There’s always next year.”

A silence falls over you as he leans back in the chair, stroking his chin with his pointer finger. He seems to slip away for a moment.

“What were your worst-case scenario picks?” you ask.

“Huh?” He arches an eyebrow, then it clicks. “Oh…well, the first one was that all of our fans would riot and hate me for breaking a promise.”

You nod, encouraging him to keep going, happy he actually partook in the exercise.

“The second was that another groups image would be irreparably damaged by some careless things I said.”

“Do you mind sharing what actually happened?”

You don’t want him to feel like you’re prying, but his worst-case scenarios leave much to be considered.

He falls quiet again, and for a moment you worry you’ve overstepped, but then he continues.

“I have this weekly live stream I do with our fans—Chan’s Room…”

You nod, showing him you’re listening. But you hope your face doesn’t give away the fact that you watched clips of it before he arrived.

“It was going strong for a couple of years, too. I mentioned another group in a backhanded sort of way and a few groups they assumed I was talking about, were bombarded with unwarranted hate.”

You have no clue how deep their fandom goes, but it sounds like they’re ready to fight for him at the drop of a dime.

“And the future of the weekly stream has been up in the air right now. I’ve apologized, tried to make things right, but…it doesn’t look like I’ll be able to keep doing it.”

“And you enjoyed them?” you ask, curiously.

“I loved it,” he replies with a sullen smile. “I got to connect with our fans every Sunday and talk with them, catch up with them, joke with them…it made us closer, I think.”

“So it’s canceled? The decision is final?”

“It’s not official, but after yesterday’s meeting I know it will be eventually.”

“That’s awful. I’m sorry, Chris.” You reach out, squeezing his knee gently.

He gives a half-assed shrug, but you can see right through him. The tension in his jaw. The flicker of pain in his eyes. “Life goes on.”

“C’est la vie.”

His lip quirks up. “English, Korean, and French, eh?”

“I’m just full of surprises,” you smirk.

“Speaking of…” he leans back slightly. “Do you know the exact date you leave?”

You narrow your eyes at the shift. “Yes…but I’m not sure I should tell you now.”

“I’m not planning anything crazy,” he says, though his grin is suspicious. “When do you leave?”

“Says the man who arranged a full itinerary and sunset dinner cruise?”

His grin only grows. “When?”

You sigh. “The 18th.”

“And what meetings do you have lined up?”

You cross your arms. “You are up to something.”

“Come on…” he pleads. “I just want to know when I’ll have you to myself again. I’m out of town for a couple days, then I’m back for a bit. After that…”

“I’m gone,” you attempt to complete his sentence.

“Well, I was gonna say I’ll be performing at Lollapalooza,” he smirks, “but yeah, that too. Of course. Absolutely.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m busy on the 10th and 17th.”

“Noted,” he says, tapping his temple.

He suddenly reaches out, grabbing the arm of your chair and dragging it toward him.

“I leave tomorrow morning,” he announces, resting his hands on your thighs.

“You should probably head home and get some sleep, then.”

“Nah,” he shakes his head. “I’d rather be right here. Besides, we were interrupted last time.”

You place your hands over his and lean in. “Did you come to my room to cash in on a promised blowjob?”

He doesn’t flinch—just grips your thighs and pulls you forward until you’re straddling him.

“That’s one idea.”

He stands with you still wrapped around him, lips brushing yours as he walks the two of you to the bed. He lays you down, crawling over you.

“I need to keep my mind busy, right now, though.”

His mouth crashes to yours hungrily. The fire between you reignites instantly, your legs lock around his waist, your hands slipping beneath his shirt, nails raking across his back.

He pulls away and yanks your shorts down in one swift motion, then drops to his knees on the floor. His fingers dig into your hips as he drags you to the edge of the bed.

“You gonna miss me?” He asks, lips ghosting kisses along your thigh.

“Do you want me to?” you ask, looking down at him.

He pauses. “Yes.”

“Alright…let’s see if you can make me miss you.” You challenge him.

He lowers his head between your thighs without another word. His tongue parts your folds, then he purses his lips together as if he’s going to whistle to blow cool air onto your pussy, causing your hips to jolt upwards.

You grip his hair, tugging him forward. He groans as he devours you, mouth sealed to your pussy, tongue moving in tight circles. His hand pushes against your stomach, encouraging you to lie back. You obey, shuddering as he explores you. When he slips two fingers inside, your body arches in response.

“Chris—fuck—”

His rhythm is relentless. His lips, his fingers, his moans all drive you toward the edge, your eyes flutter shut. You cup your breasts, whining and moaning as he alternates between giving you what you desire and teasing you.

You grab his hand on your stomach and try to force him up.

“You want me to stop?”

“I want you to fuck me,” you reply.

In a blur, he’s above you again, stripping off his clothes. You fumble with his jeans, the urgency between you palpable. His gaze is fixed on yours as he positions himself at your opening. You wrap your arms around his neck, bringing him down to kiss you, thrusting your hips forward to take him inside. You moan and bite on his bottom lip as he pulls away.

His gaze locks on yours as he pushes his hips forward at an achingly slow rate. You gasp at the stretch, at the feel of him.

“You gonna miss me?” He asks again, eyes teasing you just as much as his cock.

You press your lips firmly together. Partially just to be defiant, but you also don’t want to lie to yourself or him. You can’t miss him.

He thrusts deeper, lips brushing yours. He starts off slow and sensual at first, then faster, harder. His thumb finds your clit, circling as he fucks you.

Your moans grow louder, your hips raising to meet his each time. He presses his forehead against yours. Having him inside you right now is no different than any of the other times, but a feeling is brewing that you cannot shake.

“Come for me, y/n,” he whispers. “I want to feel it.”

He straightens and you watch, entranced, as he continues thrusting his hips back and forth, still teasing your clit. But the way he’s staring at you is unnerving. You feel like you’re on a runaway train heading straight for trouble.

But if you’re being honest, you’ve known this since the fucking dinner cruise and haven’t really done a single thing to stop it.

You sense your release approaching and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down to you again, wanting him as close as possible. You bury your face against his chest as you cry out his name. He groans as he comes, too, his body trembling with the force of it.

He stays there, slumped against you, catching his breath. He presses kisses to your face, your jaw, your forehead. The air is thick with sweat, sex, and a raw need that neither of you want to acknowledge.

“What time is your flight?” you whisper.

“7:00am.”

“Are you sleeping here?”

“I shouldn’t…I still need to pack.”

You nod. He kisses you once more before rolling out of bed. You watch him dress, your body still humming with pleasure.

True to character, he disappears into the bathroom and returns with a warm towel to clean you up with gentle care.

“I’ll text—”

“Don’t.” You cut him off. “When you say it, I expect it. Just…keep in touch if you have time. If you want.”

He nods with a small smile. “Deal.”

He finishes cleaning up his mess on you and you take the towel from him.

You walk him to the door, waiting as he puts on his backpack, then his hat, then his mask. When his shoes are on, too, he pulls you in for another kiss.

“Have a safe flight,” you murmur against his lips.

“Mmm,” he hums, nuzzling your nose before finally pulling away. He releases you and opens the door, stepping into the hall. “So you gonna miss me or what?”

“Bye, Christopher,” you deadpan and shut the door in his face.

a/n: when i was editing this, i realized i used the "runaway train" line back in 2023 when i originally wrote this and i was like hmmm should i take this line out? is to too on the nose with the release of railway?? but it made the cut hehe. [ read chapter thirteen here ]

taglist: @hanniesbubuwife / @valworld17 / @luckyroll3 / @fancybarbii / @mlink64 / @ehstay / @gncbnahc / @no1likeneo / @beppybeesnuggets / @lattyjiji / @akindaflora / @spookiesakura

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writeonwhiskey · 26 days ago

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act like you love me: ch 11

a/n: bear with me. word count: 3.9k tracklist: DLMU

11 - That's a Wrap

WEEK 10

You knew it would be difficult to pretend you’re still close with Hyunjin, for the camera, when everything off set has splintered. But you had no way of anticipating just how painful it would feel.

He’s been professional—polite. Perfect, really. Which makes it worse.

There are no outbursts. No eye rolls. No tension that could be called out by the crew.

Just distance.

Now, you’re sitting across from him in the inn’s dining room, trying not to notice how the warm light spilling through the windows catch the outline of his cheekbones. Or the way his hair has grown out a little, some of the tips falling across his forehead.

He didn’t suddenly become an ogre after breaking things off, unfortunately. That would have made this whole situation a hell of a lot easier. But over the past week, you’ve managed to convince yourself that you can still admire Hyunjin’s beauty without wanting to fuck him. It’s a solid plan. Reasonable. Professional.

And it’s been working…mostly.

Except for moments like this, when physical contact is required for the scene, and the camera demands a kind of closeness you’ve both spent the last several days carefully avoiding.

By this point in the show, the innkeeper has revealed the inherited wealth she walked away from—the life she chose not to lead. Instead, she poured everything into a quieter dream, a new life on her own terms. A choice Jae-hoon is still trying to understand.

“I don’t get it,” he mutters, staring at the table. “You make it look so easy. Just…leaving your family. Walking away from all that pressure like it didn’t matter.”

You reach for his hand. It’s part of the scene, but the way your palms meet still makes your heart beat faster. His hand is clammy. Yours isn’t much better, to be fair. You blame it on the heat from the lights.

Yeah, definitely the lights.

“It wasn’t easy,” you say softly. “I just knew I wanted something different.”

He finally looks at you. “And it doesn’t bother you?”

You shrug, hoping it comes off as casual because this dialogue hits a little too close to home. “I chose to do what makes me happy.”

He runs a hand through his hair.

“Sometimes I think I know what would make me happy,” he says. “But choosing that over everything and everyone else feels selfish, don’t you think?”

That question isn’t in the script. You blink, chest tightening.

But your voice stays steady. You’re good at that when he’s around now.

“It’s only selfish if you never consider what staying in that space could cost you.”

His jaw clenches. He doesn’t look away.

Neither do you.

“Cut!” Chan calls. “Let’s take it from the top. I don’t mind the improv, but let’s do one with the original dialogue for the studio, too.”

You look away first. He releases your hand a second later.

Neither of you speak as the crew resets for another take. But your fingers still tingle. From the warmth of his touch. From the way he held you like some part of him still didn’t want to let go.

But that’s a dangerous thought.

A dangerous hope.

WEEK 11

It’s a closed set today, but the quiet doesn’t help. It only makes everything feel more exposed. Intimate scenes are always awkward—even in the best of circumstances—but with the way things have unraveled between you and Hyunjin, the air is thick with tension.

There’s a bed, soft lighting, a few different blocking cues to cover. Chan gives his notes. The intimacy coordinator asks if you’re comfortable. You say yes. Hyunjin says the same.

You’ve had this exact moment before, but never on set. Never in front of the crew.

His touch has already mapped the curves of your skin. His lips have claimed yours countless times. His tongue has tasted every inch of you. You’ve screamed out his name as you came on his cock.

But now you have to make it look like this intimate moment is happening for the first time. When in reality…it’s the last.

That’s what has you feeling frazzled right now. It’s not your nerves. It’s not remembering the coordination. It’s the cruel irony of having to perform such a beginning while knowing—without question—that this is the end. The last time you’ll touch him this way.

He’s standing in the hallway while you’re on the other side of the door frame. Heart pounding. Mind numb.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look at you. You don’t look at him either.

You can’t.

Because you know the second your eyes meet, it’ll be too real. And you need to hold onto the lie—for just a little while longer. Not for yourself or him. But for the characters, for the scene. For the version of you both that will live forever in this moment on screen.

“Roll camera.”

You finally bring your gaze up to his, counting the beats in your head after “Action” is called, then grab a fistful of his shirt. You pull him to you—rough and sudden—torn between your eagerness to get this over with and a deep feeling of sorrow that you won’t feel his lips against yours again after today.

The second his hands find your waist and lift you up, you stiffen. It feels familiar, but wrong. Your body remembers this. All of it—the way he holds you, the way he kisses you.

But now?

It feels like pretending.

His touch is warm, but it doesn’t radiate beneath your skin like it used to.

And maybe that’s what’s making this harder. You know what it used to feel like.

And this…isn’t it.

It’s only been a week since that night in your hotel room and you’ve both spent every moment since tiptoeing around each other. Careful and controlled. But this scene doesn’t allow for control.

It demands surrender.

“Cut, cut!” Chan shouts.

You drop your legs from Hyunjin’s waist. His hands fall to his side.

“You’re stiff,” Chan says, brows furrowed. “We can feel it in the shots. Shake it off—do you guys need a minute?”

Hyunjin glances at you. You keep your eyes locked on Chan.

“No,” you say flatly. “Let’s run it again.”

“Alright. Reset to one.”

You return to the doorway, moving to your mark. Hyunjin follows.

“Take the break if you need it,” he says, voice low.

“We have to push through,” you mutter. “We only have today to film this.”

“Then stop acting like you’re being held at gunpoint.”

You don’t respond. He exhales through his nose, irritated.

“You know, for someone who insisted we stay professional, you haven’t said a single word to me unless the cameras are rolling.”

Your jaw tightens.

“And I’ve done everything you asked. Kept it cool. Kept it polite. But you can’t seem to handle it on your end.”

He’s not wrong. Not entirely. You’ve stayed focused and kept everything strictly on a surface level with him. Because the alternative would split you open. But hearing him call you out stings.

Still, you keep your voice steady. “I am handling it.”

He scoffs. “By icing me out completely? Not even a ‘hey, how are you’ before we start to rip each other’s clothes off?”

“We’re here to work. That’s what I’m doing.”

“Right.” He nods slowly, lips pressed together. “You remember those bad days I mentioned?”

You blink. The memory flickers of him during that rooftop dinner—talking about how he shut down, isolated and turned cold when he felt out of control.

He lets the question hang for a beat, then adds, “You’re behaving a lot like me back then.”

That jab lands deep. Because it’s too close to the truth.

But it’s not the whole story. What you’re doing isn’t lashing out.

It’s self-preservation.

“What I don’t understand, though,” he continues, voice practically a whisper now, “if it was all just for fun…if it’s so easy for you to walk away, pretending to fuck me shouldn’t be a big deal, right?”

You lift your gaze to his, eyes hardened.

He doesn’t need to remind you of that. You remember all too well that it was you who set those terms.

But it was never just fun. Not even close.

“Don’t act like you weren’t the one stomping all over the lines I drew,” you bite back.

He lets out a short breath, brow arched. “Let’s get this over with then. And after today, you won’t have to worry about me crossing your lines again.”

You give a small nod of agreement, standing straighter—determined to fucking sell it this time.

The moment Chan calls action, you pull Hyunjin to you and kiss him like its punishment and confession all at once. When your lips crash into his and he lifts you up, he’s the one gasping this time—like he’s been holding it in too.

You let your anger and longing pour into the scene; every breath tangled in something real. The tension, the passion, the ache that’s been sitting in your chest since that night. You let it all out, and so does he.

With his hands on your waist, he pushes you harder against him. You exhale against his lips, arching your back, letting your body speak the words your mouth won’t.

You’re thankful there’s no mics or audio. The crew can’t pick up on any of this.

But if they could—they’d hear how real it is.

He lays you on the bed with practiced ease, but this time it’s different. Something in you is shattering as you look up at him, your lips chasing his. You’re practically trembling when you tug off his shirt.

He reacts like a man starved, yanking your pants down before nestling himself between your legs.

It feels like home. And that’s the worst part.

Because this isn’t real. It can’t be.

And you’re almost certain of it until he looks up at you.

He kisses up your stomach, between your breasts, and his eyes stay locked on you, revealing something so soft and raw and reverent, it hurts.

Like he’s choosing to trample across your line one final time.

Fuck. Fuck.

You look away, ever so slightly, shifting your focus on the freckle beneath his eye so your head is still at least facing him for the shot.

He peels your top away, hikes your leg up, then covers you like the only blanket you’ve ever needed.

“Cut!”

You drop your arms from around his neck immediately.

Hyunjin grabs the sheet to cover you before climbing off the bed. He retrieves your clothes without being asked and hands them to you. You accept it, warily watching as he pries the sheet from your hands a second later.

Then, without a word, he sits on the bed, holding the sheet up like a shield. Head turned toward the crew, giving you some privacy. Possibly making sure everyone stays in their place and isn’t trying to sneak a peek. He keeps it lifted long enough for you to get dressed. Long enough to protect you, like he always swore he would.

“That was perfect,” Chan says when you’re clothed and Hyunjin drops the sheet. “Let’s do a few more takes, then we’ll move to close-ups.”

You exhale shakily and nod, keeping your eyes on the crew as you stand, not wanting to look over at Hyunjin putting his own clothes back on.

You need to get through this day.

Just a few more hours.

But the hours move like molasses. Long breaks while the lighting is adjusted. A slight delay when one of the monitors goes out. Touching him again and again becomes agonizing. No less of a painful reminder than the very first take.

Hyunjin stays quiet for the most part.

So do you.

But his silence doesn’t feel like detachment, that’s so much more clear to you now. It feels like restraint.

When the day finally wraps, it’s dark outside. The intimacy coordinator commends your performance. Chan tells you it’ll cut beautifully. Hyunjin offers nothing more than a quiet nod before grabbing his jacket and disappearing into the hallway.

You leave a few moments after, moving at a snail’s pace to your trailer, accepting the finality of all that took place today.

You thought this scene would break you.

But it didn’t.

It just reminded you that pieces of both of you are shattered by all that’s transpired. And somehow you’re still holding some of his shards in your hands.

But you don’t know what to do with them. Part of you doesn’t want to give them back.

WEEK 12

You feel frantic during the final week of filming. Between goodbyes, group photos, and final coverage, your days blur into one long farewell. There’s no time to process, no real chance to breathe.

You barely register what’s happening as you shoot the final scene—Jae-hoon returning to the innkeeper after choosing a quiet, honest life over the family business. He stands outside the entrance of the inn, bags dropped at his feet, and you rush to him with a look that says finally. You squeeze your eyes shut tight as your characters embrace.

“Cut!” Chan calls. “That’s a wrap in Gyeongju and for y/n!”

The room stays quiet, like everyone can feel it. The weight of something ending.

Then someone claps. Then a few more. And just like that—it’s over.

You pull back, eyes wet from the scene. Hyunjin’s hands linger on your arms, grounding you for a moment longer.

“Congrats on your first major wrap,” he says, low enough for only you to hear. “You did amazing, y/n. Soak this in.”

His words are reminiscent of how you viewed him during the third week and beyond. When he helped guide you through some rough choices.

You nod, lips parting like you might say something—thank you, maybe—but he’s already letting go of you. Already taking a step back.

You glance at him. “You still have some shots to film in Seoul?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Just a few inserts and a couple with J.Y. Park.”

It hits you then—this really is it. Your last scene. Your last frame with him. Everything from here will be press engagements and premieres. What comes out of the edits for the final product is all you’ll have.

You offer a tight smile. “Guess your mentor arc has come full circle.”

He laughs softly at that. “Was I ever even helpful?”

You shrug. “More than you know.”

He tilts his head the way he always does when he wants to say more but doesn’t. A beat passes between you, and then he nods.

“I’ll see you around.”

And just like that, he turns away.

Crew members start buzzing, hugging, laughing. The energy shifts immediately into something bright and chaotic—wrap party vibes already creeping in.

You push down everything else and make your rounds. You hug Seungmin tightly, promise to keep in touch with Jeongin, laugh as Yuna makes you take selfies with her in front of the inn’s porch. Felix give you a soft smile, pulling you in close for a comforting kind of hug only he’s capable of.

Later, in your trailer, you change out of the innkeeper’s costume for the last time, placing them delicately on the hanger. For a second, your fingers hesitate. As if letting go of this outfit means finally and completely ridding yourself of everything that happened while wearing it.

You think back to the first day you tried it on—how awkward the introduction with Hyunjin was, how hard you tried to act like his presence didn’t bother you. You think about the rain scene. His laugh between takes. The version of him that existed only on this set with you.

You also think about all the friends you’ve made along the way, and the fact that you’ll all never be together on a daily basis like this again. It’s a tough pill to swallow, but it’s part of the job.

You get in the shower as soon as you make it back to the hotel, towel-dry your hair, and pull out the outfit you packed specifically for tonight. It’s a sleek, black dress that hugs your body in all the right places.

You thought you’d feel relief when this day finally came, maybe even joy. And you do, buried underneath everything else.

You made it all the way through your first major lead role. That means something, no matter what else happened.

It’s not just about surviving twelve weeks of long shoots and emotional whiplash—it’s about surviving them here. In an industry that didn’t make space for you easily. That raised eyebrows at your casting. That scrutinized every word, every interaction, every stumble.

And you still showed up. You still earned your spot.

Your phone buzzes as you’re putting on the final touches of makeup.

HAN [7:45 PM]: We’re waiting in the lobby, you almost ready?

MINHO [7:45 PM]: Hurry up or I’m pulling the fire alarm.

You roll your eyes, imagining them both hitting send on their texts simultaneously, and tell them you’ll be down in a few.

You check your look once more in the mirror, unable to stop the smile from spreading across your face.

You’re really doing this—your first wrap party.

You fucking earned this.

Han and Minho are looking bored in the lobby when you step off the elevator. The both stand as you approach and walk with you to the front of the hotel where the car is waiting.

The ride to the venue is easy, their back and forth banter fills the space. Han insists he’ll ugly cry if anyone gives a speech, just to kill the moment. Minho debates whether or not Seungmin and Yuna are going to be all over each other tonight.

“You should have seen them the last time we hung out. They didn’t try to hide anything,” Han tells you.

“She wouldn’t know. Because she stood us up.”

“I wasn’t feeling well,” you say softly. “But I’m here now.”

“Yeah you are. And we’re going out with a bang,” Han grins. “First round of drinks on me.”

“It’s an open bar, buddy,” Minho ruffles Han’s hair.

Han pushes his hand away and fixes his hair. “I’ll tip the bartenders. Whatever.”

Fifteen minutes later, you arrive at the rented bar-turned-venue and Han grabs drinks for the three of you.

You settle into the buzz of the room. Felix grabs your hand and twirls you around dramatically as he praises your outfit. Chan gives you a proud hug and mutters something about you being a “pro to the end.” Seungmin toasts to your “impending rise in fame”.

And for a little while, it feels like the past few weeks haven’t twisted your heart in ten different directions.

And then you see him.

Hyunjin is across the room, in a white button-down with the sleeves rolled. He’s nursing a drink, talking to an extra you vaguely recognize, but his eyes keep drifting.

And then, finally, they land on you.

He doesn’t look away.

Your breath catches.

“There you are,” Yuna says, pulling you in for a hug and saving you from faltering. “Make sure you call me a few weeks before the premiere, okay? I want to style you—and Felix will do your makeup, too.”

Jeongin saunters over, balancing a plate of mozzarella sticks and two drinks. He hands one to Yuna.

“I will. But don’t put me in anything too revealing,” you tease, eyeing the plummeting v-line of the dress she’s wearing.

“Classy. Chic. You got it.”

“Am I still your date for the premiere, or…?” Jeongin interjects.

“A promise is a promise.”

He grins. “Can I wear a bowtie?”

“Absolutely not,” Yuna shakes her head. “I’ll style you, too, little one.”

Jeongin throws her a look and promptly takes the drink back from her hand before walking away.

“He’s sensitive about that, isn’t he?” she jokes.

You talk with her for a while before excusing yourself and wander toward the back where the music is lower and the crowd thinner.

Hyunjin finds you by the snack table.

You expect some level of tension to rise in your body when he approaches you…but it never does. You know tonight is the last time you’ll have to be around him and pretend none of it mattered. You’re going home in two days, and you’ll have some space from him, from the memory of it all. And maybe that’s why the ache in your chest has dulled to something bearable. Because the next time you see him is three months away and, hopefully, that’s enough time for you to heal and fully move on.

“You came,” he says, soft, as if unsure whether he should be surprised or relieved.

You nod. “No way I was missing the free booze.”

He lets out a breath of a laugh, eyes warm now. “I’ve kind of missed that.”

Your throat tightens. “What?”

“You making me laugh.”

You avert your gaze, staring down at your wine glass. You want to smile but you can’t let yourself fall back into his charm—not when you’ve spent the last few weeks learning how to survive without it.

“I almost didn’t come tonight,” he says, after realizing you aren’t going to respond. “I wasn’t sure if me being there last week with the others is why you didn’t go, so I thought if I just disappeared into the background now, it would be better for you.”

“And yet…here you are,” you tease. “I get that, though. I’m sorry for being so cold. I convinced myself that if we just made it to the end and kept our distance, I could walk away without regrets.”

“And did that work for you?” he asks, carefully. Like he’s not trying to press—just trying to know.

You hesitate.

Honesty feels risky. But maybe that’s all you have left to give him now.

“No,” you say, soft but sure.

He lets out a long breath, like he’s been holding it in for days, maybe weeks.

“Me neither.” He lifts his glass toward you. “To an amazing series, and an even better experience making it.”

You clink your glass against his. “Cheers.”

He swallows his sip and sets the drink aside.

“I’ll see you at the press junket,” he says, but it sounds more like a question than a statement.

You nod, wondering what three months will do to further ease the ache in your chest.

“Yeah. We’ll be different people by then. Real professionals again,” you say lightly.

He tilts his head. “Maybe. Or maybe just better actors.”

Then, he leans in and presses his lips to the top of your head. The contact is fleeting, but the gentle gesture lands with finality.

He walks away before you can say anything else.

You stand there a moment longer, letting the moment pass through you. When you finally glance around, he’s gone. Not just out of sight—gone, gone.

Seungmin passes by, muttering loud enough for you to hear, “What a dramatic exit. He didn’t even say goodbye to anyone.”

Just walked out.

You take another sip of your drink and bite back the sting.

You’ll see him again. But it won’t be like this.

And maybe that’s the point.

You let your gaze drift to the middle of the room, where Minho and Felix are acting ridiculous on the dance floor. You smile faintly.

You’re not sure what happens next.

But for now, you’re here. You made it.

And for the first time in weeks, that feels like enough to keep you going.

a/n: okay, we're through the hard parts. one more chapter & an epilogue to go!

#stray kids fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #skz fanfic #skz fanfiction #stray kids #hyunjin #hyunjin skz #hyunjin stray kids #hyunjin x you #hyunjin x reader #skz x you #skz x reader #skz x y/n #skz angst #hyunjin angst #hyunjin imagines #hyunjin scenarios

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writeonwhiskey · 27 days ago

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sorry but have we seen the video of chan from last night in amsterdam??? putting his shirt in his mouth and rolling his hips like that? I just know that man’s stroke game is INSANE

I HAVE BEEN ASSUALTED BY THIS CLIP AGAIN AND AGAIN TODAY ON MY SOCIALS.

And I stopped and watched it for far too long each time 😫 I'm really not okay.

We need a Stray Kids Anonymous counseling session after that because what the FUCK!? Why why why would he do that? Why does he exist and I can't have him? I'm fucking DISTRAUGHT.

F M L.

#stray kids #skz #bang chan #bang chan skz

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writeonwhiskey · 27 days ago

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Hello dear, could i be added to the taglist for "act like you love me"I devoured the chapters quicker than a pack of skittles

Yes, my love! I saw it on your reblog and got you on it already 😉 Thank you for reading 💜

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writeonwhiskey · 1 month ago

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act like you love me: ch 10 (18+ MDNI)

a/n: sorry for hurting your hearts in advance. i wanted to rehash some of the scenes from chapter 9 so we can understand where hyunjin's head is at with this, so it may feel a bit jumpy as we go from scene to scene. word count: 4.9k tracklist: Escape [ fic master list ]

10 - How It Should Be (Hyunjin POV)

WEEK 9

Craft services has become an unofficial hangout spot while we break for lunch. This entire day has been a tease.

Being around you and not having a moment alone? Torture. We aren’t even filming anymore—just the photoshoot after this—so I can’t even pull you back to my trailer to “run lines”.

It sucks.

So, here I am, chopsticks hovering over a paper plate of cold japchae, and I haven’t taken a bite in ten minutes. Not because I’m not hungry—with this miserable diet for the upcoming shirtless scene, I’m fucking starving—but because you’re sitting across from me with your head tipped back, laughing at something Han just said.

And I can’t look away.

You glance at me briefly. You don’t even say anything. Just that soft look, the hint of a smile, and it’s enough to mess me up.

We’re seated next to each other, close, but not close enough. Knees touching occasionally beneath the table. That’s all we can risk. But I want to pull you on my lap, make you laugh at something I say, and kiss you right here.

In front of everyone.

This secret has become more precarious than I anticipated. More consuming. Two months ago, you wouldn’t even look at me unless you had to. Now we’re…whatever this is. Spending nearly every night together. You finally letting me take care of you. Letting yourself be vulnerable and soft.

I fucking love that version of you.

I’m starting to think I love all your versions.

I’m called away by Seungmin to go over the shoot schedule with J.Y. Park when we return to Seoul. And for the first time in years, I hate the idea of moving on to a new project. Normally I’m excited. I like the pace. The turnover. But this? This feels different. We feel like the beginning of something.

And yeah—you’ve asked me to end it.

More than once.

But I don’t think you mean it. Not really.

And I'm used to this cat and mouse game we've been playing since the camping trip.

I text the others I won’t be joining them for dinner and wait across the lot from your trailer. When I hear the door open, I don’t dare turn around. I don’t want her to see me here, waiting for you.

But once she’s gone, I go to you.

You jump when I open the door. “What are you doing?”

I step inside, shutting the door behind me. “What are you doing?” I repeat, lip quirking up as you dart to the window. “She’s gone. I watched her leave.”

“I thought you left…were you waiting outside my trailer?”

It certainly sounds creepy when you say it like that, y/n.

“It seemed like you were ready to blow a gasket after she showed up. Your agent, right?”

You nod, leaning back against the counter with a sigh. I know that sigh. I hate that sigh.

“Everything okay?”

“Hyunjin…”

No. Don’t say it.

“…I think we really need to end this.”

There it is.

Again.

“What? Why?” I ask, although I already know what’s coming next.

You give the same script. That we work now, in secret, in this strange little world we’ve built, but once it’s over, we’ll fall apart.

You say it like it’s inevitable. Like there’s no point even trying, but I disagree.

I step closer, sliding my hands to your waist as you mention your agency using me.

“You won’t let them.”

“Of course not. I don’t want to use you for anything.”

“You could use me for some stuff,” I murmur, lowering my head to kiss you. You stop me with a palm to my chest.

“That’s not what I meant.”

I smile anyway. “I know. But I don’t care what anyone says.”

“You do care. About your career.”

Of course I do. But that doesn’t mean you’re disposable.

You have no idea how much I’ve been thinking about this lately. Wondering what the hell any of this means. Wondering what the future looks like if it’s just more lonely penthouse suites and new projects without you in them.

“So what—what do you want me to do? Pretend I don’t want you?”

“I don’t know…” you trail off. “Maybe stop looking at me like no other woman on this planet exists.”

I blink.

So you’ve noticed. And you’re still going on about ending this?

“They don’t.” You rest your head against my chest, and I hold you tighter. “You don’t have to be scared.”

It’s quiet for a moment as you, hopefully, let my words pour over you.

“You riding back with me?”

“I shouldn’t…”

“But you will?”

You sigh. “You’re making this really hard.”

“You thought breaking up with me would be easy?”

You let out a soft, sad laugh before replying, voice barely above a whisper. “There’s nothing to break up.”

Hm. You say that. But you’re still here. In my arms. Letting me hold you like this. You’re scared, sure…but you’re not done. Not yet.

I still have time to show you what this could be.

I kiss the top of your head and pull away just enough to catch your eyes.

“I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

Because as long as you keep coming back—I’m not letting you go.

You sit beside me in the back seat, your head resting on my shoulder. The streetlights roll across your face as we glide past storefronts. You’re quiet, in that peaceful way you get when you’re tired but content.

With me.

And I don’t want to hide that, anymore. I like you. I don’t even know when it happened exactly…when wanting you turned into wanting to be yours.

“You hungry?” I ask.

You nod, stifling a yawn. “We can order in,” you mumble. Then you glance up. “Changbin, did you eat?”

I smile at that. You’re always so thoughtful and courteous with him.

“Yes,” he replies. “But I can eat again—if the boss will allow it.”

“Yeah, but you’re going to your room as soon as you’re full.” I warn him.

“That’s my secret, Cap,” he glances at me through the rearview mirror. “I’m never full.”

You shake with laughter against my side, and I wrap an arm around you, pulling you closer.

We ride in silence until my phone lights up. And I make, quite possibly, the biggest mistake of my life by looking at it.

Alessia [7:35 PM]: Dinner still on? 👀 You better not flake, Romeo.

I feel you sit up before I can fix my expression.

“Shit. I forgot about this dinner thing. My agent set it up with the stylist for that concept shoot in a few weeks.”

You nod. “Yeah, no worries. Work’s work.”

You say it like it doesn’t bother you. Like it’s fine.

But your smile doesn’t reach your eyes.

I want to tell you I don’t even want to go. That I’d rather be on your couch again, or mine, sitting way too close, pretending we’re still just co-stars even though my entire body feels like it knows yours now.

But instead, I say, “I’ll text you later?”

You don’t answer right away. Then finally, as you move to open the door, “Sure.”

I catch your arm and bring you back to me, hooking a finger under your chin. I gently turn your face and lean forward to kiss you, but there’s no reciprocation.

I stop and pull back to look at you.

Your eyes are dark and distant. Guarded.

“It’s just a work thing,” I offer softly.

“Even if it’s not,” you say, eyes on your hands, “it’s fine. We’re not dating, Hyunjin. We can’t.”

Before I can say anything, you open the door and step out.

“Have a good time,” you say.

And then you’re gone.

You don’t look back.

I stare at the closed door for a second too long.

Have a good time?

What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Are you angry? Are you testing me? Do you really not care at all?

None of those possibilities make me feel better.

Changbin reroutes us to the restaurant and the silence in the car makes how I’m feeling even worse.

When we arrive, I don’t get out right away. I sit there, gripping my phone like it’s going to give me an answer to my troubles.

“Come in with me,” I say finally, not even looking at him.

He doesn’t ask why. Just shrugs and follows.

The restaurant is one of those upscale lounge-type places—dim lighting, curved velvet booths, candles flickering on each table.

Alessia waves us over from the corner, smiling wide. She’s already had a drink, maybe two. She’s glowing, radiant in a low-cut black dress, and stands to greet me like we’re old friends.

“You made it,” she beams in English, her Italian accent thick. “I ordered that citrus thing you like.”

I nod and sit across from her. She doesn’t acknowledge Changbin until he slides into the booth beside me.

“You brought Changbin?” she asks, eyebrows lifting slightly.

“He’s my shadow,” I reply. It’s a joke. Sort of.

She laughs too loud at it, brushing her hair over one shoulder.

I glance at my phone under the table.

Nothing from you.

We order. The drinks come fast. We talk work—photo concepts, branding, upcoming schedules. She’s smart. Talented. She’s good at her job.

She’s also not you.

But you’re not mine. You’ve made that clear.

Why do you insist on drilling that into my head?

“You’re working with Donatella, right?”

I nod.

“Do you think she’d provide clothing? I know she’d serve your looks justice,” she smiles too widely at me.

“I could reach out to her team.”

This is the version of me people expect—the public Hyunjin. Charming. Neutral. Professional.

I sip the drink. It tastes like citrus and regret.

Somewhere between the third glass and dessert, the conversation loosens. Alessia laughs more easily. Her voice gets softer, the edge in it smoothing out.

She’s pretty. I know that. I’m not blind. I just don’t care.

But…you want me to care? You want me to notice other women? You think this type of night should feel good and be fun, right? This is what you expect for me?

Beautiful girls. Fancy drinks. Easy conversation. No risk.

But it feels hollow.

Because the only place I want to be right now is wherever you are.

And the worst part?

You’re convincing yourself you don’t want me. And even though I don’t believe you, you’re stubborn enough to walk away from me.

The thought alone drives a stake through my heart.

My head is foggy when I wake up around 3:00pm. Bits of last night flicker in and out of focus: the drinks, the candlelight, Alessia laughing too loud at Changbin’s jokes. Her voice in my ear as we exit the restaurant.

“Let’s go out the side,” she said, looping her arm through mine. “Less crowded.”

Then, the flash of cameras. Her hand on my chest. Lips near my cheek, then my mouth.

A kiss I didn’t want. A photo I didn’t see coming.

I scrub a hand over my face, grab my phone, and check my messages.

None from you, still.

Just as I go to put my phone down, I notice the slew of messages from my agency. There are links to several articles, all with terribly misinformed headlines as usual.

“Hyunjin Spotted With Vogue Italia Stylist After Hours—New Romance?”

“Kiss Caught On Camera: Hyunjin’s Secret Night Out”

Fuck.

I vaguely remember Changbin having a heated exchange with the paparazzi after I got away from them and into the car, but clearly that didn’t stop them.

I sit up. My heart is thudding now. I scroll, jaw clenched. Comment sections are chaos. Some fans are screaming. Others are celebrating. Rumors are starting.

Is this why you haven’t text me back?

I can only imagine how this looks from your perspective. But maybe this is what you wanted, what you needed to give you that final push to stay away from me. Maybe this is a sign showing you how quickly things could spiral out of control.

I text you first, hoping you’re still within reason and haven’t shut me out completely. Then, I text my agency that Alessia is off the shoot and to find a new stylist. Something about how that all played out last night is a little too suspicious for my liking.

My thoughts are a mess as I get dressed and head out. But I need to see you. I need to explain.

In today’s scene Jae-hoon is supposed to be unraveling. Broken down from his father’s rejection, clinging to the one place—and person—that makes him feel safe.

It’s not hard to get there today.

I sit at the table, a bottle of soju in front of me, the fake condensation dripping onto my hand. Felix is still fixing my makeup right until the moment they call “places”. My eyes go straight to you.

You don’t look back.

You haven’t, not since I got here.

It hits me harder than I expected. I thought maybe the text would break the ice. Or at least earn a glance. But you’re focused. Cold, even.

I hate it.

The cameras roll.

“I’ve been looking for you,” you say.

“Well. Congratulations. You found me,” I reply, voice heavy. “Want a drink?”

You answer, soft but firm: “No. You left without saying anything. I wanted to know what’s going on.”

I look up at you and everything clenches—my chest, my throat, my goddamn soul. You’re in character, but you’re also you. And all I can think about is what I actually want to say to you.

“Cut!” Chan calls. “Do you need your line, Hyunjin?”

I shake my head. “Let’s go again.”

Every take, I get a little worse. Because every time I look at you, I feel farther away.

Finally, Chan calls for a break.

You disappear behind the set and I follow, because I have to.

But our conversation does no good.

“I trust you,” you say, and my heart stutters—until you finish. “To get this scene done in a timely manner. Let’s focus on that.”

And just like that, the door slams shut again.

Back on set, we go again.

This time, I get there. Maybe because I’ve lived it now. Maybe because the pain I’m playing is real.

“My father thinks I’m weak…” I start. And it pours out.

By the time I deliver the final line—“Tell me who I am, then. Because without you, I don’t fucking know anymore”—my voice cracks.

Your hand is in mine.

And even though we’re acting, I wish—just for a moment—it wasn’t a scene at all.

"Cut!" Chan calls out.

You squeeze my hand, gentle and brief, comforting me but I don’t know where the line is between us and our characters anymore. My chest rises and falls too fast. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and glance around at the crew, pretending like the emotion was part of the job.

Maybe some of it was.

But not all of it.

Because the way I looked at you? The way my voice cracked on that last line?

That wasn’t acting.

I meant every word.

“Tell me who I am, then. Because without you, I don’t fucking know anymore.”

It’s not just dialogue to me. It’s a truth I’ve been trying not to say out loud.

You’re already letting go of my hand. Already standing. Already leaving the moment behind like it didn’t mean anything.

But I’m still sitting here.

Still reeling.

And for the first time on this project, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to let go of this character—because I don’t know where he ends and I begin.

Not when it comes to you.

When you confirm that you’re in your apartment, I throw on a pair of shoes and dart to the elevator almost instantly.

I knock at your door and you answer. Barefoot, tired, and you don’t say anything. You just let me in.

Getting no emotion at all from you is somehow worse.

“It wasn’t what you thought,” I start quietly. “We had dinner and drinks and talked about the upcoming shoot—Changbin was there the whole time.”

You raise a brow. That last bit was meant to be comforting, but perhaps it’s not. Given that I informed you Changbin is sworn to secrecy when we kissed at the club.

“She was flirty. I won’t deny that. But that’s normal, to me. Not ego. Just a fact.”

You remain unmoved.

“She kept saying how cold she was in the restaurant, so I gave her my shirt. And when we said goodbye, I went to do the cheek-kiss thing. It’s customary with Europeans, but she went in for my lips. I didn’t kiss her back. I swear, y/n. Not like that.”

I pause, watching you.

Still nothing.

“You don’t have to worry, I’ve had her replaced for the shoot.”

The blank look on your face is eating me alive. I feel like I’m grasping at straws, like the moment I’ve been dreading is finally here. You don’t want me to fix this.

You let the silence stretch.

“Okay,” you finally say.

Just one word? But you believe me?

No…something is still wrong.

“It happens in this industry,” you continue, almost too calm. “Exploitation and shitty misunderstandings.”

I exhale. For a second, it feels like we might be okay. But when I take another step closer to you, you hold your hand up to stop me.

“But just because I understand it doesn’t mean it changes anything.”

My heart falters. “Why not?”

“We aren’t dating. We’re not a thing, Hyunjin. Whether what you just said was true or not, it changes nothing. We need to end this.”

“True or not?” I echo. “So you don’t believe me?”

“I do. But that’s not the point.”

I frown. “It should be. After everything, I feel like we owe it to ourselves to see if there’s more here. To make our choice based on what we want?”

“Hyunjin…no.”

“Why not?”

You gesture between us. “Because you’re…you. I’m barely starting out. You know how this goes—rumors, scrutiny. It’s not just unwise, it could be career suicide for me. So this is my choice. This is what I want.”

You’ve expressed the same concerns multiple times and I know, I get it. You’re new, you’re talented, and you’re already under a microscope. You’re afraid that being with me would have people accusing you of being the girl who slept her way to screen time.

But don’t you understand I’d do everything in my power to prevent that from happening?

“But…it felt real, right?”

You swallow hard. “It did…but that doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

You close your eyes and shake your head. “I appreciate you coming to tell me. But we can’t do this anymore.”

When you open your eyes again and look down at the ground, I can see it written all over your face. You’re trying so hard to be strong and it makes me second guess my actions. Would it be easier for you if I just let you go? But being this close to you, I can’t understand how that would make sense.

[ SONG: ESCAPE ]

I take a tentative step toward you, and you don’t move away.

We’re close, but not touching.

“We only have three weeks left on set,” you murmur, finally looking up at me. “We can’t do this again.”

Another step closer and you stay in place. I can feel the sparks radiating between us in this moment. Your resolve is slipping.

“But I don’t want to leave it like this.”

I search your face, and then I do the thing I shouldn’t do.

I kiss you.

Hard.

You kiss me back.

And that’s all it takes.

The second your mouth touches mine, I know I’m fucked.

Not just turned on. Not just desperate. Fully gone.

The kiss is chaotic. My hands dive into your hair. You clutch at my neck, my shoulders, pulling me closer like you want me under your skin. Like you need me there.

Trust me, I would live there if I could.

“We can’t,” you whisper against my lips—but your hand is already beneath my shirt.

“Then tell me to stop,” I taunt, kissing your jaw, your throat, that spot beneath your ear that always makes your breath hitch.

You don’t.

Instead, you peel my shirt off, your fingertips trailing heat down my sides. I help you out of your shirt, and when our skin collides, my entire body lights up. Then we’re stumbling—through the living room, down the hall, unable to keep off each other.

“I could take care of us,” I say, rough and reckless. I mean it. “You wouldn’t have to worry.”

You laugh bitterly, pushing me against the hallway wall. “I’m not a trophy wife, Hyunjin.”

You come back to me, kissing me as you push my sweatpants down. I step out of them before lifting you, and your legs wrap around my waist as I pin you against the opposite wall.

“That’s not what I meant,” I murmur, my lips brushing along your collarbone.

“I’m not something to keep hidden in a penthouse either.”

“I wouldn’t hide you.” I kiss you again, rougher this time, like I’m trying to burn the promise into your mouth. Like I can make you believe me.

You drop to your feet, slip out of your pajama bottoms and underwear. Then drop down to your knees.

Fuck.

One of your hands grips my thigh. The other wraps around the base of my cock, and I look down just as your lips part to take me in.

My head hits the wall, my hands find your hair, gripping tight, helpless to do anything but groan as you suck my cock with urgency. Your words aren’t matching up to your actions—all you’re doing is reminding me that you want and need me just as much.

“Fuck, y/n—your mouth…”

You moan around my cock and my knees nearly give out. Your hand strokes what your mouth can’t reach, your tongue tracing the underside with precision.

Then your other hand disappears between your legs.

“You touching yourself?” I pant. You nod, eyes locked on mine as you suck even harder. “Mmm, yes. Play with yourself for me, jagi. Get that pussy nice and wet for me.”

You moan again, louder this time. I start thrusting slowly into your mouth, and when you don’t pull away, I push my hips forward, going deeper. And you take it all.

“That feels so fucking good,” I growl. “I don’t want this to be the last time. Don’t make me lose this.”

I pull out, wiping the spit from your chin with my thumb. I grip your jaw between my fingers and squat down so we’re eye-level. I need you to hear me, to see me when I say this.

“I’d burn everything I’ve built to the ground if it meant having you,” my tone is soft, but the words are a dangerous promise.

A flicker of something passes through your eyes—hope? Fear?

You don’t respond.

I pull you to your feet and kiss you, tasting myself on your tongue as we stumble toward the bedroom. We make it onto the bed and the moment your body is fully pressed against mine, something in me shatters.

I can’t lose you.

I line up at your entrance, dragging the head of my cock against your folds. You’re soaked—dripping, actually—and it drives me insane.

“You want me to stop?” I ask, teasing you with shallow thrusts. Just the tip, in and out. Just enough to make you squirm.

You gasp, clutching at my shoulders.

“Answer me.”

“Hyunjin,” you groan, hips chasing mine.

“This has to end, right?” I push a little deeper, then pull out again. “You can walk away from me without missing this?”

You’re panting now, writhing beneath me, your fingernails digging into my back.

“Just fuck me,” you beg. “Please.”

“Tell me you can do that,” I whisper, biting your bottom lip.

“Hyunjin, please,” you breathe.

I sink into you with one long, deep stroke, and we both moan—loud and broken. Your pussy wraps around me like it doesn’t want to let go, and I curse under my breath at how fucking tight you feel.

I kiss down your chest, teeth grazing your skin, and latch onto your nipple, sucking hard as I start to fuck into you. I grab your thighs and push them higher, opening you wider, going deeper.

“You feel unreal, y/n,” I groan, watching your eyes flutter shut.

Your pussy contracts around me and I can feel how close you already are. But I want more. I want to drag this out until you’re shaking.

“Tell me,” I murmur again, pulling almost all the way out. “Tell me you can just forget about this.”

“I—I can’t,” you cry out, head tilting back.

I pull out completely.

Your eyes shoot open in protest, but I kiss my way down your body before you can say anything. Down your chest, your stomach, until I’m nestled between your legs. I push your thighs apart and look up at you.

“You say we’re done…but your pussy says otherwise, jagi.”

Then I bury my tongue in you.

You gasp, hips jerking as I lick from your entrance to your clit, swirling my tongue slowly, teasing you.

“I should leave,” I mumble against you. “Let you go, right?”

You moan my name, fists tangled in the sheets, and I groan when your hips buck against my face.

“But I’m not that strong, y/n,” I say, licking circles around your clit now. “I want you too much.”

Your thighs shake. You’re close again. I slip two fingers inside you and curl them just right.

“Hyun—fuck—Hyunjin!”

“That’s it,” I taunt. “Come on my tongue. Let me have it.”

You break apart right in front of me, your thighs trembling around my head. I groan, licking you through it until you’re twitching and whining.

I sit up, my mouth wet with your cum, and crawl back over your body.

“Still want this to end?” I ask, licking the taste of you from my lips.

You yank me down into a kiss, to have a taste yourself, and then push me until I’m on my back. You straddle me without hesitation, reaching between us to line my cock up.

“I should say no,” you whisper, voice chock full of that same disdain from week one as you slowly lower yourself onto my cock.

“Then say it,” I grit, hands gripping your thighs as I thrust into you.

You start to move, slowly at first—hips rolling in lazy, torturous circles. I want to throw my head back onto the pillows, but I also don’t want to take my eyes off you. You look so fucking good on top of me.. Skin flushed. Breathless.

“You were made for this cock,” I say.

“You’re so full of yourself,” you hiss, riding me faster.

“Only when I’m inside you,” I growl, reaching up to cup your breasts. “Only when your pussy is squeezing my cock like this.”

You slam your hips down harder, again and again, until I sit up and wrap my arms around you, chest to chest. I kiss you, still thrusting into you, but the rhythm is messy and wild. But I don’t care, I need to be this close to you right now.

Fuck that. I need to be this close to you always.

But I’m terrified that even this reminder of what it’s like when we’re together won’t be enough this time.

“Turn around for me,” I say, voice hoarse.

You climb off and I guide you onto your stomach, yanking you up by the hips until you’re on your knees, ass in the air. I take a second to admire you again—back arched, pussy still dripping for me.

I grip your hips and slide back inside. It feels calming.

Like this is mine. Like you’re mine.

You drop your chest to the bed, arching your back further, your ass bouncing perfectly with every thrust.

“Gonna fuck you so good you forget why you want this to end,” I say, pounding into you raw and fast. “Gonna show you why you should be mine.”

You throw your ass back against me, crying out with every thrust. I slip a hand between your thighs and rub your clit again.

“I’m gonna come,” you moan. “Fuck—I’m so close.”

“Do it,” I pant. “Let me feel you come on my cock, jagi. I need it.”

You moan as your thighs shake. Your pussy clenches around me so tight I can barely breathe. I keep going, chasing my own release, hips snapping into yours.

“Shit—y/n—I’m—fuck—”

I come hard, groaning through my teeth as I collapse over your back, my whole body shuddering.

And even as I roll off you, chest heaving, heart racing…I already know what this was.

A crash, not a landing.

You roll over and pull the blanket to cover you as the silence consumes us.

“This doesn’t change anything,” you say softly.

I sit up and swing my legs off the bed, my back to you as my head drops. “I know.”

I don’t try to hold you.

You don’t ask me to stay.

But neither of us move for a long, long time.

a/n: i have nothing to say other than i'm sorry 🥹 but we'll get them on the right track by the end! pinky promise.

@hwangjoanna / @hanniesbubuwife / @straycat420 / @tsunderelino / @dessianna1 / @akindaflora / @tirena1 / @krayzieestay / @ehstay / @spookiesakura / @aria-again / @sakuraseyebrow / @brekkers-whore / @sailor--sun / @velvetmoonlght

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